Fat Man Mountain Biking

I wasn't always a fat guy. At my fitness apex around my senior year of high school, I was in pretty good shape. I and my friends did lots of activities which required a high level of physical conditioning, and to put it frankly, we were all in pretty good shape. Be it extreme mountain biking, running to the "Y" or to the top of Rock Canyon for a jog out of boredom, rock climbing & rappelling, waterskiing, backpacking in the High Uintas wilderness, riding off road motorcycles, or just being dumb teenagers, me and my 3 best friends were able to do it and do it well.

However, as time has gone on, I have let myself go to seed. I have steadily put on a small amount of weight each year. This wasn't a problem for the first 2, 3, or 5 years. Now that it has been over 15 years, with my jobs becoming increasingly sedate, I am in perfect shape - round, that is.

A few years ago, a couple of friends and I were reliving the past and decided to go for a nice bike ride. Rock Canyon, above Provo, is was a great place to ride bikes. However, as we have gotten older, the trail has become increasingly steep. Instead of all the work of riding up, we just want to ride down. So Rob, Zo, and I decided to load the bikes onto the back of my SUV and take them to the top of the canyon by car - an hour drive up a narrow winding road out of Provo Canyon, past Squaw Peak. It was early May, and we were sure that the roads would be clear for the trip.

We were wrong.

Our first problem came when we encountered a still snowpacked portion of the road. After a moments pause, we decided that we would be able to make it across, so into 4 wheel drive we went - about halfway across the snowpack before getting stuck. After forward progress was halted, I tried to back out the way I had came, but with no success - in fact, with every attempt to move my Bronco either forward or backward accomplished little other than sliding sideways towards a 15 foot drop at the edge of the road where it would certainly roll.

We were about 5 miles from the top of Rock Canyon, and with the road being completly snowpacked, we decided to unload the bikes and head back the way we came, planning to ride to Zo's home where we could enlist his brother and his truck to come help get us unstuck. At this point our visions of a leisurely ride down Rock Canyon are crushed, but we could still enjoy the ride down the mostly paved road to Provo Canyon, and from there ride the paved Provo River Trail to Zo's house.

The road from Provo Canyon leading to the Squaw Peak overlook is a very narrow and steep switchback road with sharp drops off to the side. As we began our descent, the first thing I noticed was that my brakes didn't seem to be working very well. I stopped a couple of times to check them, but could find nothing wrong with them. Oblivious to the fact that the real problem is that they have to stop almost 50 pounds more than they used to, I determined to just keep my speed down so that the brakes could function better. Before long, I ended up having to stop again, this time to fix a flat tire which had been punctured during our short ride. A little voice in my head started to question if I had thought things through, but my impatient streak took charge, angered by the 10 minutes we had lost fixing my flat.

We took off again, and in my haste to recapture lost time, I headed down the next hill at a faster speed than was prudent considering my braking issues. This became very apparent at the next switchback turn. I was braking with all my strength, but I still came into the turn at a much higher speed than I would have liked. To compound my error, there was a patch of loose gravel on the road at that turn.

Now stop and imagine watching the next events unfold before your eyes. It must have been like watching Wylie Coyote get into one of his tragic accidents.

Through the turn, the bike was trying to skid out from underneath me sideways, and I struggled to keep it upright. I was successful in keeping it underneath me, but slid sideways as I did so - right off the side with the drop off. (The only thing missing was a small sign saying "Yikes!" I could have held up)

I don't remember precisely what happened at that exact moment. What I do remember is a blurry mixture of the sky mixed with various tree branches rotating wildly around my field of view. The first clear memory I have was after I had come to a rest - about 15 feet down the hill, with the bike stuck in a tree, and myself hanging upside down from the toe straps on the pedals.

After I managed to extricate myself from the bike and cling to the tree, I passed my bike up to Rob and Zo (once they had stopped laughing), and then they helped pull me back up to the road. Surprisingly there was not too much damage - to either myself or the bike.

All in all, I had two more flat tires, a large assortment of bruises, and a fair number of scrapes, including a wound from one branch which had torn through the two shirts I was wearing and had gouged out a 1/2 inch by 3 inch stripe from my chest under my right arm. I was finished with this ride.

Zo pulled his cell phone out of his saddle pack and called his brother. After about an hour of waiting, his brother and a couple of friends arrived in a pickup to take us back up to get my Bronco unstuck. To add insult to injury, the brother took a look at my Bronco and said "You're not stuck! Give me your keys!" He got in, threw it into reverse, cranked the steering wheel and floored it. For a few seconds I was sure he was going right off the edge of the road and down the hill. It stopped about 6 inches short of the side, finally gaining traction and moving slowly back with all 4 wheels spinning madly. With my Bronco safely removed from the snow field, I drove very carefully back to town.

I don't ride mountain bikes very much anymore.

A Christmas Story

There are a number of wonderful, heartwarming Christmas stories that get revisited this time each year. One of my favorites is when Allied and German troops at the battle front ended up with an informal truce on Christmas Eve, 1914.
However, my own favorite story at this time of year is the story of the Christmas Pants.
I can't tell the story any better than it already has been, found on Snopes:

The one present Roy Collette wasn't looking forward to getting for Christmas 1988 was those damned pants. Yet he knew he was in trouble as soon as the flatbed truck bearing a concrete-filled tank off a truck used to deliver ready-mix rolled up. Sure as God made little green apples, those pants had to be in there. And he was going to have to fish them out, else declare his brother-in-law the winner of a rivalry that had then spanned 20 years.

Being the sport he is, brother-in-law Larry Kunkel thoughtfully supplied the services of a crane to hoist the concrete-filled tank off the flatbed.

What's this game, you ask? What was the significance of these pants, and why were two grown men going to such efforts year after year to retrieve them, only to send them off again?

It all began in 1964 when Larry Kunkel's mom gave him a pair of moleskin pants. After wearing them a few times, he found they froze stiff in Minnesota winters and thus wouldn't do. That next Christmas, he wrapped the garment in pretty paper and presented it to his brother-in-law.

Brother-in-law Roy Collette discovered he didn't want them either. He bided his time until the Christmas after, then packaged them up and gave them back to Kunkel. This yearly exchange proceeded amicably until one year Collette twisted the pants tightly and stuffed them into a 3-foot-long, 1-inch wide pipe.

And so the game began. Year after year, as the pants were shuffled back and forth, the brothers strove to make unwrapping them more difficult, perhaps in the hope of ending the tradition. In retaliation for the pipe, Kunkel compressed the pants into a 7-inch square, wrapped them with wire and gave the "bale" to Collette. Not to be outdone, Collette put the pants into a 2-foot-square crate filled with stones, nailed it shut, banded it with steel and gave the trusty trousers back to Kunkel.

The brothers agreed to end the caper if the trousers were damaged. But they were as careful as they were clever. As the game evolved, so did the rules. Only "legal and moral" methods of wrapping were permitted. Wrapping expenses were kept to a minimum with only junk parts used.

Kunkel next had the pants mounted inside an insulated window that had a 20-year guarantee and shipped them off to Collette.

Collette broke the glass, recovered the trousers, stuffed them into a 5-inch coffee can, which he soldered shut. The can was put in a 5-gallon container filled with concrete and reinforcing rods and given to Kunkel the following Christmas.

Kunkel installed the pants in a 225-pound homemade steel ashtray made from 8-inch steel casings and etched Collette's name on the side. Collette had trouble retrieving the treasured trousers, but succeeded without burning them with a cutting torch.

Collette found a 600-pound safe and hauled it to Viracon Inc. in Owatonna, where the shipping department decorated it with red and green stripes, put the pants inside and welded the safe shut. The safe was then shipped to Kunkel, who was the plant manager for Viracon's outlet in Bensenville.

The pants next turned up in a drab green, 3-foot cube that once was a 1974 Gremlin. A note attached to the 2,000-pound scrunched car advised Collette that the pants were inside the glove compartment.

In 1982 Kunkel faced the problem of retrieving the pants from a tire 8 feet high and 2 feet wide and filled with 6,000 pounds of concrete. On the outside Collette had written, "Have a Goodyear."

In 1983 the pants came back to Collette in a 17.5-foot red rocket ship filled with concrete and weighing 6 tons. Five feet in diameter, with pipes 6 inches in diameter outside running the length of the ship and a launching pad attached to its bottom, the rocket sported a picture of the pants fluttering atop it. Inside the rocket were 15 concrete-filled canisters, one of which housed the pants.

Collette's revenge for the rocket ship was delivered to Kunkel in the form of a 4-ton Rubik's Cube in 1985. The cube was made of concrete that had been baked in a kiln and covered with 2,000 board feet of lumber.

Kunkel "solved the cube," and for 1986 gift-giving repackaged the pants into a station wagon filled with 170 steel generators all welded together. Because the pants have to be retrieved undamaged, Collette was faced with carefully taking apart each component.

What happened to the pants in 1987 is a mystery, and their 1988 packaging (concrete-filled tank) was mentioned at the beginning of this page. Sadly, 1989's packaging scheme brought the demise of the much-abused garment.

Collette was inspired to encase the pantaloons in 10,000 pounds of jagged glass that he would then deposit in Kunkel's front yard. "It would have been a great one - really messy," Kunkel ruefully admitted. The pants were shipped to a friend in Tennessee who managed a glass manufacturing company. While molten glass was being poured over the insulated container that held them, an oversized chunk fractured, transforming the pants into a pile of ashes.

The ashes were deposited into a brass urn and delivered to Kunkel along with this epitaph:

Sorry, Old Man Here lies the Pants. . . An attempt to cast the pants in glass brought about the demise of the pants at last.

The urn now graces the fireplace mantel in Kunkel's home.


Merry Christmas!
-Ted

If programming languages were religions...

Stolen word for word from here, I only repeat it because I worry that it will disappear:

C would be Judaism - it's old and restrictive, but most of the world is familiar with its laws and respects them. The catch is, you can't convert into it - you're either into it from the start, or you will think that it's insanity. Also, when things go wrong, many people are willing to blame the problems of the world on it.

Java would be Fundamentalist Christianity - it's theoretically based on C, but it voids so many of the old laws that it doesn't feel like the original at all. Instead, it adds its own set of rigid rules, which its followers believe to be far superior to the original. Not only are they certain that it's the best language in the world, but they're willing to burn those who disagree at the stake.

PHP would be Cafeteria Christianity - Fights with Java for the web market. It draws a few concepts from C and Java, but only those that it really likes. Maybe it's not as coherent as other languages, but at least it leaves you with much more freedom and ostensibly keeps the core idea of the whole thing. Also, the whole concept of "goto hell" was abandoned.

C++ would be Islam - It takes C and not only keeps all its laws, but adds a very complex new set of laws on top of it. It's so versatile that it can be used to be the foundation of anything, from great atrocities to beautiful works of art. Its followers are convinced that it is the ultimate universal language, and may be angered by those who disagree. Also, if you insult it or its founder, you'll probably be threatened with death by more radical followers.

C# would be Mormonism - At first glance, it's the same as Java, but at a closer look you realize that it's controlled by a single corporation (which many Java followers believe to be evil), and that many theological concepts are quite different. You suspect that it'd probably be nice, if only all the followers of Java wouldn't discriminate so much against you for following it.

Lisp would be Zen Buddhism - There is no syntax, there is no centralization of dogma, there are no deities to worship. The entire universe is there at your reach - if only you are enlightened enough to grasp it. Some say that it's not a language at all; others say that it's the only language that makes sense.

Haskell would be Taoism - It is so different from other languages that many people don't understand how can anyone use it to produce anything useful. Its followers believe that it's the true path to wisdom, but that wisdom is beyond the grasp of most mortals.

Erlang would be Hinduism - It's another strange language that doesn't look like it could be used for anything, but unlike most other modern languages, it's built around the concept of multiple simultaneous deities.

Perl would be Voodoo - An incomprehensible series of arcane incantations that involve the blood of goats and permanently corrupt your soul. Often used when your boss requires you to do an urgent task at 21:00 on friday night.

Lua would be Wicca - A pantheistic language that can easily be adapted for different cultures and locations. Its code is very liberal, and allows for the use of techniques that might be described as magical by those used to more traditional languages. It has a strong connection to the moon.

Ruby would be Neo-Paganism - A mixture of different languages and ideas that was beaten together into something that might be identified as a language. Its adherents are growing fast, and although most people look at them suspiciously, they are mostly well-meaning people with no intention of harming anyone.

Python would be Humanism: It's simple, unrestrictive, and all you need to follow it is common sense. Many of the followers claim to feel relieved from all the burden imposed by other languages, and that they have rediscovered the joy of programming. There are some who say that it is a form of pseudo-code.

COBOL would be Ancient Paganism - There was once a time when it ruled over a vast region and was important, but nowadays it's almost dead, for the good of us all. Although many were scarred by the rituals demanded by its deities, there are some who insist on keeping it alive even today.

APL would be Scientology - There are many people who claim to follow it, but you've always suspected that it's a huge and elaborate prank that got out of control.

LOLCODE would be Pastafarianism - An esoteric, Internet-born belief that nobody really takes seriously, despite all the efforts to develop and spread it.

Visual Basic would be Satanism - Except that you don't REALLY need to sell your soul to be a Satanist...

Fat Guy Post - Granato's Deli

Those of you who know me know that it is very obvious I love food. You don't get an impressive physique like mine without a very real appreciation for different foods. Sure, some guys get fat off Burger King and Funyuns, but those are the exception. Real fat guys know good food.

Today's post deals with the marvelous experience I just had at Granato's Deli in Salt Lake City.

I've been to Granato's before, but each time I go I am overwhelmed at just how awesome this place is. The only thing it doesn't have going for it is the location. The south west side of Salt Lake City (bordered by West Valley) is the armpit of the Wasatch Front. (What does that make Ogden? A discussion for another time perhaps.)

At any rate, although the location for the Salt Lake Granato's is less than desirable for most people, it is close to my office and is possibly even in a nicer neighborhood. (My apologies in advance to those poor souls who live in the Chesterfield neighborhood of Salt Lake/West Valley. I try to not let the three shootings & untold number of stabbings which have occurred within a half mile of my office during the last year reflect poorly on you.)

When you go to Granato's for lunch, you will likely be greeted by Sam Granato, a middle fifties, well dressed man who looks the part of a very successful business man. Sam's father Frank started the importing company bearing the family name, which in due course spawned a few of these deli's. The deli started as just a side off the main shopping area where you can purchase all the imported foods and supplies, but it has steadily grown over the last couple of years to the point where tables are all around the deli counter in the middle of the very large room.

The fare is very authentic deli sandwiches, salads and soups. Instead of some generic "Italian salami" listing, the menu lists sandwiches containing Genoa, Mortadella, and Parma Prosciutto. Most all of the meats are imported from Italy, along with most of the cheeses, olives, and various other ingredients. The breads and rolls are very authentic as well. No "Herb and Cheese" Subway-prepared bread here. Instead you smell and taste the same breads you would find if you were to visit Calabria or Tuscany.

Today, I ordered a Meatball Calzone and a bowl of Chicken Pot Pie soup.
I was very hungry, and thought a little cup of soup would be a bit of a pick-me-up on a cold & dreary day. I was little prepared for the entire tray full of food I received.

My Calzone fully filled one half of a dinner-sized plate, while the other was full of a great salad topped with prosciutto, chunks of mozzarella cheese and crumbles of fresh feta. That was in addition to the large bowl of magnificent Chicken Pot Pie soup, complete with a large roll & crackers. In all, it was far too much food to eat at once, even for a man such as myself.

When Sam wandered by to check on us, I told him that it was too much food, and that I would need to find a box or something. His voice boomed across the room as he jokingly told me to be a man and finish it before moving on and chatting with other diners.

When I had finished my calzone, I rose to go back to the counter and see if I could find some sort of cup in which to take my uneaten soup. I had only taken one step before Sam stopped me and offered to help. I asked if they had something I could use, and he took the tray from me saying "I don't know, but I'll find out!" Within a couple of minutes, he had an employee bring me a wonderful to-go bowl of soup, along with the roll & some crackers all wrapped very nicely in a paper tray.

Once again, I came away very impressed, and can wholeheartedly recommend Granato's to anyone who happens to be in the area. (And even for those who aren't in the area but are feeling adventurous.)

Geek Post - Debugging

Another great quote:

Debugging is twice as hard as writing the code in the first place. Therefore, if you write the code as cleverly as possible, you are, by definition, not smart enough to debug it.
--Brian Kernighan

Geek post - XML

Ran into this quote from the intarwebthingy, and while I don't necessarily agree, it did make me laugh out loud:

XML is like violence: if it doesn't solve your problem, you're not using enough of it.

Open letter to NBC

Why does your network want to kill good shows?

Scrubs never had a good following on your network because you never gave it a consistent night and time slot. No one knew when the hell it was on.

Now, you seem to want to kill 'The Office'.

The last couple episodes have ended on a very serious note. If I wanted to watch a drama, I'd watch a REAL drama. I watch the office to laugh, and while I was laughing at times during the last couple of episodes, I wasn't laughing at the end of them.

That absolutely stinks.

Save 'The Office' while there is time, I beg of you.

Geek Post - New Laptop, impressions

So I finally got around to buying a new laptop.
I've put it off for literally years, using my old Dell Latitude CPX (550Mhz, 512 Megs RAM) only when absolutely necessary, and using my home "Frankenbox" computer for most tasks.
However, recently the Frankenbox (so named because it is literally a Frankenstein of parts scavenged from old work computers and a smattering of new parts) has become really unstable, rebooting at random times. It could just be RAM, but it might be the motherboard.

I talked my sweetheart into letting me purchase a pretty good computer, one that I can write software on using many powerful tools at once. I got a Dell Studio 17 laptop.
After waiting for weeks for it to arrive, I promptly replaced the stock hard drive with a faster one (7200 rpm from 5400), and installed a copy of Windows Vista Ultimate I received at the Microsoft Server 2008 launch event earlier in the year. After getting it tuned in just so, I added partitions for Ubuntu Linux, and Windows XP.
I've gotten Ubuntu installed, and the dual boot working properly.

Now that I've spent a few weeks with Windows Vista, I find myself wondering what all the whining was about. Of course you should never install a Windows product before Service Pack 1, but overall my impression has been a good one. The User Account Controls aren't as overbearing as people complain, in fact I find it to be less intrusive than the controls imposed in Linux. It seems to be just a shiny new interface. Aero is pretty. I hate the Windows Explorer skin, but other than that, its been fine.

The coolest visual stuff has been on Ubuntu. Vista has cool looking gadgets, but it all pales in comparison to Ubuntu with CompizFusion installed. The effects there are mind blowing in a desktop OS.

I've dragged my feet on the Windows XP install, mostly because I have to slipstream some SATA drivers into my install disk. (If you don't know what that means, thats okay - that means you are probably normal...)

Overall, I'm absolutely in love with my shiny new toy!

Update: I've gotten XP installed, and got the triple-boot working. It wasn't as easy as the dual-boot, let me tell you.
I am still working on some driver issues for XP and Ubuntu, but all three OS's are functional at this point.

Wicked cool stuff!

Small changes afoot

I've modified the layout of this blog just a little bit, and I've added the "Mildly Amusing Stories" section off to the right to highlight the actual stories, standing out of the random thought posts.

I'm sure my one reader will appreciate it. :)

Self Defense with an Aebleskiver Pan

This story has been brought up by persons other than myself not once, not twice, but three times this week. As such, it is probably time to put this story in print.


During the latter half of 2004, one of my older sisters was living in the basement apartment of my house, after divorcing her husband. She needed a leg up for a few months, because establishing your own household after twenty years of marriage can be just a little challenging, and it's the least I can do for the sister whom I credit for saving my life in a quite literal sense more than a few times.

At Christmas, her oldest daughter Marie* came over with her boyfriend Parker, who I knew to have had brushes with the law & problems with... lets just call them 'chemical refreshments'. They came to see her mother for Christmas, and over the course of a few hours, it came out that he had been kicked out of his parents house, and had nowhere to go. When she asked my sister if they could stay on the couch for a couple of nights, my sister referred her to Uncle Ted. I asked if he was currently using, and she said "no", and assured me that there would be no problems.

I was presented with a dilemma because here it was Christmas, the season of giving, the time of year we are focused on our Lord and Savior. Although the 'cop-alarm' was going off in the back of my head, I rationalized: "What would Christ do?" Of course, I relented and gave my consent for him to sleep on the couch for a couple of days.

Nothing out of the ordinary took place for the next day and a half, but things went south at approximately 11:30 on the evening of the 26th. I was asleep in bed when a loud noise and voices woke me up. I got out of bed and padded down the stairs to see what was going on. I knew that my oldest son Nate*, my nephew James*, and my niece Laura* were playing video games & I thought that they were getting out of hand.

I walked into the downstairs living room, and saw that my niece and her boyfriend were in the living room, so I proceeded to one of the bedrooms, trying to locate the three kids I thought were behind the disturbance. I walked in finding them quietly watching a video, and asked what the noise was. They all pointed back at the living room, saying "it was them!".

I walked the few steps back down the hall to the wall dividing the kitchen from the living room, and abruptly stopped when I realized that Marie was standing up on the couch, leaning into the corner, with her hands covering her face. Parker was standing in front of the couch, trying to talk to her. At that moment, she jumped past him off the couch, and walked around through the kitchen. She headed past me down the hall to her sister's bedroom, and shut the door. As she passed me, I noticed that her sweatshirt had been ripped at the neck, that her tank-top and bra strap had been pulled out through that rip, and had been pulled all the way down around her arm. Just as it would appear if someone had grabbed her shirt by the neck, started throwing her around, and maintained his grip on the tank-top/bra strap as the sweatshirt ripped away.

Having been woke up, my senses were just now getting up to speed, and the penny dropped - that noise had been Parker throwing my niece around the living room, which was disheveled. Furniture was out of place, the video game system was strewn around, and it looked like a rumble had just taken place.

Options for Parker's slow, painful death started to flood my head.

Parker held up his hands, backing away, saying "Hey man, it's cool. We were just arguing..." For my part, rational thought took over, and as I pointed to the door, I told him "OUT!" He quickly grabbed his shoes and headed through the kitchen, towards the door. He stopped halfway through the kitchen, dropped his shoes, then started walking towards me while saying "look, I need to go talk to her..." I replied "No, you need to get the hell out of here, right now!" My wife appeared behind me, having run down the stairs carrying the phone when she heard me yelling. She started dialing 911. Parker kept walking, and tried to push past me, but I pushed back, telling him "No, get out of my house!" He pushed again, but a bit harder. I pushed back, even harder, yelling "GET THE F$%# OUT OF MY HOUSE!" The rounds of pushing and yelling went back and forth a few more times, each push getting harder, each shout getting louder. After I shoved him back about 4 feet, Parker came back again, but this time instead of open palms ready to shove, he had his hands balled into fists.

It's time to show this punk who rules this roost.

As he comes with his arms wide, fists swinging up from the outside, I stepped forward inside the arc of the fists, reaching up and grabbing his shirt with both hands between the neck and shoulders (blocking his swinging arms with mine), and dragged him in for a head butt - right on his nose. Having broken his nose, and still holding his shirt, I continued with the momentum of my forward movement and threw him across the kitchen, where he fell across the table and face first into the wall.

In my limited fighting experience I have found that unless someone is a boxer or into some kind of martial arts, breaking a nose usually takes the fight right out of them. As such, I thought we were finished, and was feeling pretty proud of myself. I had forgotten that Parker had serious addictions to 'chemical refreshments', and subsequently was surprised when, high on something, Parker got up and rushed at me.

Parker is 5'11", with a slight build. At that time, I would estimate he was maybe 160 pounds. I am 6'1", and was about 280 pounds at the time. Even with that weight advantage, Parker began to throw me around like a rag-doll. I was managing to block punches, but his fury was such that I could not get a punch of my own in, and in between swings he would push, shove, and throw me. He threw me into the kitchen counter. Then back across the kitchen into the stove. Then back across into the counter again, all the while trying to land punches which I was blocking, but only barely. As he threw me around, I was truly frightened - not for myself as much as for my wife, who was standing a few feet away where she was giving a play-by-play narrative to the police dispatcher, and for my kids and my nieces & nephew. If Parker got the better of me, my family was at risk. Then fate, luck, or Providence intervened.

As I crashed yet again into the stove, my hand fell upon the handle of an aebleskiver pan which my father had given to my sister for Christmas the day before. Aebleskiver pans are heavy cast iron pans with cups built in used for cooking the Danish aebleskivers:

Top of Aebleskiver Pan

Bottom of Aebleskiver Pan

As Parker dragged me from the stove, my fingers closed around the handle, and as he was shoving me back to the counter again, I brought the pan down on the back of his head, just behind his left ear. His head split open, and the blood that gushed out just added to the blood coming from his nose in splattering all over the floor. He stopped for just a second, reaching up to his head & feeling the fresh wound. His anger showing in his gritted teeth, he looked ready to redouble his efforts when I yelled out "Come on, you son-of-a-b@#$*h! Let's go!" I had brandished the pan somewhat like a baseball bat, ready to swing.

He turned, ran to the door, and ran out. He was dressed in nothing more than a t-shirt and jeans - he had never put his shoes on. Marie had come out of the bedroom, and ran outside to him. From outside, he screamed and taunted me, trying to get me to come outside to continue the fight. I stayed put, knowing that I had gotten him out of my house, and that my family was safe.

Sirens began to sound, and he ran off. I began to worry at that point that I would go to jail - smashing his head with a pan may have been self defense, but it would have been reasonable for arriving officers to let the prosecutor and judge decide, as is standard protocol in most domestic incidents. As it was, the dispatcher had heard me yelling at him to leave, and had heard much of the scuffle, and had relayed that information to the responding officers. One of them told me that the dispatcher's information from overhearing the incident and the obvious restraint I had shown in not going outside to respond to his taunts had played a very large role in their decision to not take me in.

For his part, Parker ran barefoot and wearing only a t-shirt, in the middle of the night on December 26th, at least 5 miles across ice and snow to get to his father's house in neighboring Lehi City. He turned himself in to police the next day after detectives contacted him.

The funny part of the story is over, but there was significant aftermath.

I found myself being very emotional, easily frightened, and having panic attacks - typical of someone who has been in a violent incident, but I considered myself above such things. Here I had been a police officer, had worked in the maximum security unit of the State Hospital, and had been in many violent incidents. Walking into a room where a 300 pound man who thinks he is Jesus is throwing furniture and taking him down isn't exactly a walk in the park. So why the teary-sissy stuff? After a couple of days, I went to talk to the Physician Assistant at my doctor's office. He had done his internship up at the State Hospital, so he knew and understood what kind incidents I had been involved with at my former job. He patiently explained to me that with all of those other incidents, I had been doing my job. I could go home at the end of the day, and most of those things just brushed off once the adrenaline rush was over. This incident had been in my own home, with my wife and children just feet away. As such I had much more at stake than my own safety, and that was the crucial difference in the severity of psychological trauma.

After a few days (and with a little help from Xanax...) I got control of myself.
My relationship with Marie, however, had been damaged. She was downplaying the whole incident, and took Parker's side. She said I overreacted, and described the incident to family and friends as a 'misunderstanding'. I had always had a very good relationship with Marie, but this was too much to take. We didn't talk much for a couple of years. Even then, when we patched things up, we avoided the subject of Parker and by mutual agreement decided to not talk about it.

Marie finally saw Parker for what he was, and left him for good around the time we patched things up. And I am very happy to report that this very afternoon, she is marrying a wonderful young man who I am very proud to accept into our family. He is one of the people who brought this story up this week, asking if I had a pan on me at a family function just a couple of days ago.

*Names have been changed to protect the innocent. Except for Parker. Feel free to look up that bastard's criminal history. He can rot in hell. My GameCube got damaged when he was throwing Marie around. Maybe I'll sue him for it...

September 11th

In reflection this morning, I realized that I’ve never really documented September 11th in my own words. I feel like the events of that day have had a profound effect on who I am, so here is my raw account.

On the morning of September 11th, 2001, I was at work like any other morning. I was an account manager for Neovest, a company specializing in software performing technical analysis of the stock and commodities markets. This morning, I was on the phone with Darci, the office manager for a branch of Bright Trading, a nationwide day trading firm. I was helping her update all of her workstations with the latest version of our software. I was the first one in that day, starting at 6AM my time, 8AM eastern time. I had been on the phone with Darci for the better part of an hour when just a few minutes before 7AM, Darci said “Oh my God! Ted, are you watching the TV? A plane just crashed into the World Trade Center!” I stood up at my desk, and looked over my cubicle wall at the TV mounted on the wall, usually on and broadcasting CNBC. (We did this because we needed to be aware of what was happening in the markets when talking to our clients.) The TV had not been turned on yet that morning, so I covered the microphone on my headset and yelled out “Guys! Get the TV on! A plane just crashed into the World Trade Center!” I don’t remember who actually turned the TV on, but I finished my conversation with Darci and pulled my chair around to where the rest of my team was assembled, watching the events unfold.

We were watching and talking together, wondering aloud what could have possibly happened. We watched the replay several times, wondering if it had been a small passenger jet that had crashed. I remember us debating how likely it was that a pilot could make that kind of error. We also began to talk about our fortune as a company that our New York office had moved from the 82nd floor of Tower 1 just a week prior. One of our team, Andy, was out in New York that day to visit clients, and I remembered that he had planned to go into the city from our company apartment in Jersey City that morning. I thought about calling him, but decided against it, thinking that he had to be okay and that I would just be distracting him.

At 7:02AM we watched in disbelief as Flight 175 crashed into Tower 2. We had been joking around, wondering if anyone we knew had been hurt, and wondering what effect the first crash would have on the markets, but instantly we all fell silent. We zeroed in on the TV, watching and listening intently as the commentators were ordering a replay of the footage. I remember turning in horror as the replay clearly showed the second plane hit. I caught our IT Engineer’s eye as I turned around, and at that moment we both realized that this had been no accident. But we wanted to believe that it was some sort of fluke, some sort of grievous navigational error. We discussed the numbers of people that were involved. Something that amazes me to this day is the low number of casualties. There should have been close to 30,000 people there at work that morning. The stock market opens for trading at 9:30AM eastern time, and traders are generally in an hour before that.

We began to worry about Andy, and all of our other New York office based employees. At that time, we had 4 account managers, a technical analyst, and a couple of sales people based in New York. In addition, our VP of Sales was in town. The phone lines were jammed, so we resorted to Instant Messages and E-mail to communicate. Within a few minutes, we received a company-wide e-mail from our CEO letting us know that he had personally verified that everyone was safe. I can remember thinking over and over that this was like some sort of bad dream, or something out of a movie. All of the TV stations were saying the same things over and over again, but through the internet, we began to hear about other missing planes. Rumors abounded, but we sorted through them, trying to verify facts, the fear that other planes were heading to other targets being very real. Then, we saw footage of The Pentagon. This only intensified our efforts to obtain information on what in the hell was going on. Who was attacking us? Are there missiles in the air? Should I call family and tell them to… what? What would make them safe? What was the threat? And how is it possible that whatever client Jerry was talking to could be so utterly clueless as to what had happened that he would still want to diagnose problems with his software?

Just before 8AM local time, Tower 2 collapsed amid the damage and fire caused by the airliner. The live TV showed the collapse, and then replayed it over and over. A half hour later Tower 1 collapsed. Emptiness and numbness crept in. The enormity of this attack was just too much to take. My team and I just sat, staring blankly at the repeating TV reports for the space of a couple of hours, still worried that there were more planes in the air, traveling to more and more distant targets. Rumors surfaced that another plane had gone down in Pennsylvania.

At around 10AM local, noon eastern, our CEO sent an E-mail summarizing what had happened, reiterating that all of our employees were safe, and instructing us to go home to care for our families, and asking that we keep those who were injured and the families of those killed in our prayers. I left and drove home. I remember coming in the door to the startled look on my wife’s face. I threw my arms around her and just didn’t let go for a few minutes. I also remember needing to see my infant son, Trevor. It was a harsh realization for me that there were things out there that I couldn’t protect my family from. Before, I had felt like I could keep them from any kind of harm, and the loss of that belief felt like a crushing weight.

I finally lost it, broken down to tears, that evening at about 6PM local time. Of course, the TV was still on and giving us information as it came in. NBC news ended one segment with a montage of pictures set to the song ‘Watermark’ by Enya. The emotions which I had been repressing had built up all day, and finally overwhelmed me. I cried for nearly an hour. Listening to that song even now still brings back much of the emotion I felt that day. (This is not the montage video, but the music is the same.)

Like someone who has been robbed, I no longer felt safe. The sunny days of my youth were gone, and the future looked dark and dreary.

In the following months, our nation pulled together as one. In the aftermath, people were nicer to each other. Everybody had this feeling of solidarity that carried over into our daily lives. We all shared the fact that we were victims of this horrible tragedy, and in that similarity, we found it easier to overlook each other’s faults. Those feelings faded, along with the feelings of victimization. The wounds have healed, but left scars that fade just a little more each day.

Blasphemy?

So on the way to work today I saw a license plate that said “TRY GOD”.
Is it absolutely horrible that I immediately thought:

catch (exception e)
{
exception noFaithError = new exception();
//additional error handling code here
}

/nerd

Responsibilities of a Citizen

This morning the radio show I listen to on my drive to work was doing an informal poll of people, asking who they are going to vote for in the upcoming election. You can imagine the types of people who crawled out of the woodwork to call in and expound upon their particular political ideology. However, I was filled with a mixture of amazement and disgust with one particular caller. A young man called in, saying that his fiancée is voting for Barack Obama, and although he didn’t understand why she was planning to vote this way, he wished he could do something about it. When the radio DJ asked who he was planning to vote for, he replied “Oh, I’m not registered to vote because I don’t want to be called in for jury duty”.

!

There are three directions I can go with how angry this statement made me.

Our Criminal Justice System has failed:
This kid just pointed out one of the huge flaws in our criminal justice system – in that a jury of your peers is no longer really possible. What you end up with is a jury consisting of mostly people who were not smart enough to get out of jury duty. Sure, there will be a small minority of people who consider it a civic duty to sacrifice part of their precious time to go decide whether or not a fellow citizen is guilty of the crime he or she is accused of committing by the State. Those people are most often rejected by one side or the other during jury selections. This leaves the people who truly do not want to be there, but could not come up with any way to get out of it. Our founding fathers once thought that good people could be counted on to carry out what they considered civic duties, but that was one of the many times they over estimated future generations.

People who do not vote have no moral standing to complain about our leadership:
Yes, people are granted the right to say pretty much whatever they want due to freedoms granted all citizens. However, if you complain about the state of things, but refuse to take any action - no matter how small - to fix the problem, you are a spineless windbag spouting so much hot air. Sure, it may not matter in this election that you vote one way or another in a state where you already know that the electoral votes are cast for the Republican candidate, but to bring about any sort of change requires good people to act upon their consciences and vote. Otherwise, how do you sleep at night?

Is it any wonder we have the divorce rates we do?:
This kid said that he didn’t understand why his fiancée wanted to vote for Barack Obama. While I can think of reasons to vote for AND against BOTH major party candidates, the problem here is that he doesn’t understand why the woman he plans to MARRY is voting for a particular candidate. He must really know her well. I’m not saying he has to agree with her reasons, but at the very least he should try to understand them. Hell, even be able to list a few if he can’t understand them.
My wife and I haven’t always agreed on political issues, but at the very least, at the times we disagreed, we understood each other’s positions.

Maybe I am just wearing rose-colored glasses as I look at the past, but it seems that each of the above issues were not a problem back when people actually took civic duties seriously. We as a nation have rallied together many times over the last couple hundred years of our national existence. How many problems we currently face would be dramatically changed if good people everywhere started to participate more in their own governments and lives, if people put the same amount of care into their spouse, family, and civic duties that they put into their jobs and hobbies?

Citizenship in this great country is both a right and a responsibility. It's high time some people learn this simple fact.

The measure of a man

There is an old adage which says "If you want to get the true measure of a man, look not at how he treats his equals, but at how he treats his subordinates." I tried to find the actual quote, so I could give proper attribution, but came up with a bunch of apocryphal listings without any indication of whom may have said it first.
(It was even stated in Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire, when Sirius Black tells Harry that Hermione has a good grasp of Barty Crouch's character.)

In my job as a Constable, I've served several people in high rank of wealth, status, or position in society. Based upon my own limited experiences, I've found that people with real status don't need to flaunt it. It is mostly those who aspire to greater stature that feel the need to tell me just how important they are. For the most part, when I've dealt with someone who truly has wealth, community stature, or other societal importance, they have been very polite and even businesslike with me.

Now I wonder if that is only because I carry a gun.

Just a week ago, the Utah State Senate Majority Leader felt the need to identify himself as such to a poor college student delivering a pizza. She had the nerve to tell him that her employer did not accept personal checks as payment. He must have felt that by virtue of his status in society a simpleton such as a pizza delivery girl would be overwhelmed by his ability to influence... something or other.

News flash: If you have to tell everyone how important you are, you aren't that important.

Unfortunately for him, the poor kid went home and blogged about it. All of a sudden, the news outlets were on this like white on rice.

Now this poor girl has been besieged by people both praising her for her backbone and berating her for tarnishing the sterling reputation of a great and visionary leader.

My advice? If you want to get the true measure of a man, look not at how he treats his equals, but his subordinates.

Yet another empty fall

I love the fall. I love the crispness in the morning air, I love the changing colors in the trees, I love that I don't have to mow the lawn as much, I love that my life gets ever so slightly less busy after school starts for my wife and kids. But as much as I love the above, I really love football.

While I like watching NFL games, I've never really closely identified myself as a fan of one particular team, largely because living in Utah denies me the chance to have a 'hometown' team to root for. As such, I can watch NFL games and enjoy them, usually without regard to who is playing, instead enjoying the battle between individual players whom I like to watch.

That method of watching football somewhat quenches my thirst, but I really crave the ability to root for a local team. This brings me to college football. I have been a rabid BYU football fan for most of my life. I remember the heady days of Jim McMahon, even though I was only a little boy. I remember the hysteria following the national championship in 1984. I have Ty Detmer's autograph in my scrapbook. I just really love BYU football.

But BYU betrayed me.

They, along with the rest of the Mountain West Conference, wanted more money than they were getting. So they signed a dark backroom deal with a company whom is only one step better than the Mob, Comcast. This deal gave Comcast the ability to hold my love for BYU football hostage through their new sports network, 'The Mountain'. This is a channel created by Comcast to exclusively broadcast Mountain West Conference games. Now if I want to watch BYU games I have two options: go to the game in person, or subscribe to Comcast's services. As such, I have not paid much attention at all to the BYU football program the last two years. Not being able to follow the program closely, I haven't even tried to go to games in person. Why bother, if I can only watch a couple of games? I used to plan my extremely busy Saturdays around when 'The Game' was on, but now I might turn on the radio while I'm working on a project if I happen to remember.

Sorry Bronco Mendenhall, I would love to be able to follow the fantastic progress you have made with your program, but since I don't want to deal with Comcast in any way, shape, or form, I have been locked out.

Yet another year where I feel somewhat empty, and more than a little sad as time turns to what used to be my favorite time of year.

UPDATE:
A short while after posting this, I found a statement from the Mountain West Conference saying that they would be available on DirectTV (my satellite provider) starting on 8/28/2008. I heard something similar each of the last two years, so I wasn't holding my breath, especially since there was nothing confirming this on DirectTV's website. I was absolutely delighted to find that I began receiving "the mtn" as advertised, and was able to watch BYU play Northern Iowa last Saturday.
I've added entries in my calendar for all of the other games of the season...

A man faces his fears - and survives!

I've mentioned before that I am deathly afraid of three things: Spiders, Snakes and Needles. I would rather deal with dirtbags armed with knives or guns than spiders snakes or needles. Each of them can make me scream like a little girl.

Of course I'm afraid of other things, but those three top the list. If I have time to mentally prepare for it, I can get a shot at the doctors office, I can squash a spider for my wife, or even pick up a snake. But if I am startled, all bets are off.

A little known fact about the little town of Saratoga Springs, Utah which borders the north west side of Utah Lake is that historically, in the later part of the summer, large numbers of spiders build giant webs in the area to take advantage of the astronomical number of mosquitoes found around the lake. There have even been news stories about it from time to time. This doesn't just occur around Utah Lake, but also the Great Salt Lake. In Saratoga Springs, as neighborhoods are going in, the sage brush the spiders used to spawn these webs are disappearing, and the spiders along with them. (Probably aided by copious amounts of bug spray!)

Last night, while working my part time job as a County Constable, I was tasked with serving a summons to some people who live about a half mile south of the last neighborhood at the south end of town. Just a single house by itself out in the middle of the sage brush.

There was a black lab which came to greet me as I drove down the driveway. I've been bitten three times in the 10 years I've been doing this, so I always take the time to stop and let a dog check me out, make friends with me before I approach the house. This dog was pretty friendly, and walked with me towards the house. I was looking down at him, paying attention to him as I walked through a decorative archway / trellis thingy over the sidewalk... right into my own 'Indiana Jones Like' nightmare of spider webs!

I stumbled a few steps while ripping sheets of spider webs from my face and head, dropping my clipboard & papers, very nearly having a total breakdown. After beating every inch of my body trying to kill the spiders which may or may not have been crawling all over me, I looked up to the front door & noticed a sign which said "Come around to the back (basement) door - we don't use this front door".

As I walked around to the back door, carefully avoiding the archway covered in spiders trying to repair the damage I caused to their webs, I noticed that every nook and cranny around the house, especially in the eaves up near the roof, were covered in spiders and their webs. And not little, common house spiders. Big fat scary spiders. The bodies are about the size of a quarter, with the legs extending out past that. They were either "Cat Spiders" or "Orb Weaver Spiders".

Cat Spider:


Orb Weaver Spider:


I talked with the people in the house, and they told me that they don't use any pesticides or poisons because "the spiders are our friends, and those poisons kill living creatures". In other words, they are freaks.

I asked them to check my back, to make sure that I didn't have any spiders on me before I left. Thankfully, they said they couldn't see any.

I'm sitting here freaking out just writing about it. But I survived.

Next time, give me papers for the violent ex-con. At least my .45 will work on them.

Into the abyss

We've reached the abyss.
It happens each year, right around this time.

There is absolutely nothing going on in the sports world that I care about, even a little bit.

I don't consider myself to be a big sports nut. I love football (both college and pro), & I love pro basketball. Not enough to watch for hours and hours each week, but I keep up on standings & catch a game (or at least part of a game) each week.
This, along with the steady stream of news stories accompanying all of the above, keeps me reading Sports Illustrated 8 months out of the year.

But from the time that the NBA finals finish in the middle of June until the first college football games in August, it seems like there is NOTHING at all sports related to be interested in. Sure, the NBA draft can once in a great while be almost interesting to get hyped up about, but that didn't happen this year.

I am fully aware that baseball and NASCAR fans are probably outraged that I wouldn't consider their sports worthy of attention, but I mean 4-5 hours of watching baseball for just a small handful of hits, of actual excitement? I just can't get into a sport that takes a break to stretch 2/3 of the way through the game. And NASCAR? Please, I see 100 or so rednecks trying to ram each other off the road each day, but I call it 'Driving in I-15 traffic'.

Traffic Sucks

I have finally done it. I have signed up to get a permit allowing me to use the Car Pool lanes in and around Salt Lake City without an extra passenger.

I've been contemplating this move for over a year, ever since I changed jobs last year, and began to work near downtown Salt Lake City. It's 28 miles from my driveway to my parking spot at work, but at the best, this drive takes me 40 minutes on a good morning and 45 minutes on a good afternoon. The usual is closer to 50 minutes in the morning, and an hour in the afternoon. At least weekly, I'll have a day where I'll spend an hour driving in the morning, or an hour and a half in the afternoon.

I don't know if they make much money off the program, but UDOT allows drivers to purchase passes to use the Car Pool lanes for $50 a month. I've thought for a long time that this was simply too much money, but then today I actually broke it down.

Assuming that there are 20 working days in a month (at the very least...), $50 breaks down to $1.25 a trip. If we had those stupid pass things that allowed me to pay a toll here, and the price difference between a 40 minute commute and an hour and a half commute was only $1.25, I'd be on that like white on rice.

With my current pay, I only need to save three minutes in order to justify this decision. Money well spent.

I hate traffic.

Moments of sadness at work

Working as a Constable, I have learned to have fairly thick skin. 95% of the time, the people I am serving have had many, many opportunities to take care of things prior to the time I show up on their porch. Often, I relish in being there at the exact moment someone realizes what a chump, what a drain on society they have been. It makes my day so much better to make someone else's day so much worse.

But sometimes, when I have to serve certain papers, I just feel bad doing so.

I often felt sympathy when I had to serve papers regarding a medical bill to someone who is obviously struggling with both their health and their financial situation. I have often felt really bad when attempting to serve papers only to find out that the defendant has passed away. One of the worst I can remember was when I had to serve eviction papers on a family the day before Thanksgiving, the same day that they had sent their father/husband off to Iraq. (The article doesn't mention the 30 minutes I spent with this woman, trying to get her to let me help contact some family, friends, religious leaders, anyone at all to help comfort or counsel her, the advise I gave her about contacting the JAG corps - because with her husband deployed, she and her family couldn't legally be evicted, etc...)

Despite all the sadness associated with the above duties, I often feel the most sympathy & sadness for someone I have just served with divorce papers. Not always, because often people were waiting for them & are finally glad to be getting them. (In fact, one time, a woman was so happy to be getting them that she grabbed me and gave me a hug!) But often, the sight of a Constable bringing divorce papers shakes someone up, & drags them to the belated realization that their marriage is really going to be over.

Last night, I had to serve a man who appeared to be in his mid twenties with divorce papers. He was a well built guy, someone who appeared to be formidable enough that I would rather not see him angry, yet he was trembling with fear when his father called him to the door. When I explained who I was and what I had for him, tears formed in his eyes. It was blatantly obvious that he was not prepared for the possibility that his marriage could be over. His world ended right there. I pitied him, having long ago been through a divorce myself. I wished to reach out, grab him by his shoulder, and tell him that everything would be alright. But that would be a lie. Everything isn't going to be alright. Not for a long time, if ever.

People getting divorce papers don't always even know they are coming. In fact, fairly often, I will be serving someone divorce papers while their soon-to-be-ex is still living in the house with them. Those can be very touchy, and more than a few times I've ended up calling the local police & told them not only what happened, but asked them to drive by a few times, maybe even stop & check in on the wife. (Usually those were cases where the wife was divorcing the husband, many times in an already abusive situation.) Still other times, a wife receiving divorce papers without warning will simply break down and cry for a few minutes, right there at the door. No words I can offer will comfort the feelings of loss and betrayal that they are feeling right at that moment.

When that happens, I do the only thing I can: Get back in the truck and head off to the next service. I've got a job to do.

Cigarettes

I haven't had a cigarette for over 10 years. This fact doesn't stop me from craving one when I get really stressed out, even after all this time.
Having been really stressed out today, I began to ponder. What in the world would make me desire to have a cigarette after all this time. It certainly isn't physiological, not after 10 years. in addition, there are a whole list of reasons not to smoke. Health issues, being ostracized from society at large, constantly smelling like an ashtray, not being able to taste food as well, extremely high cost, nicotine addiction, second-hand smoke effects on those around me, the list goes on and on.

So what exactly is it?

In short, cigarettes make me think more clearly.
Expounding on that, I must admit I've never been a chain-smoker. I'd get really stressed out about things, smoke a pack or two over the space of a couple of days, then I'd quit again for months at a time. Therefore, for me, smoking was a coping mechanism.
When I would be stressed out, most of all, I usually sought solitude. I sought the time to think things over carefully, to seek internally solutions to my problems. Generally, my multi-tasking brain cannot handle processing just one thing at a time. I am nearly always doing several things at once. It is just my nature.

But when I smoked, everything just stopped. I didn't usually smoke around other people. With each drag, concentrating simultaneously on the sublime beauty of each individual lit strand of tobacco while carefully controlling my breathing, I was able to force out all other threads of thought save two: My lit cigarette, and the problem I sought to analyze. With the nicotine buzz came emotional numbness and the ability to step back away from my problems and take an objective look at them while detached.

Over time, I'd like to think that I have developed better coping skills than ingesting known carcinogens. I'd like to believe that I am a better man now than I was 10 years ago, wiser and more responsible. I'd like to think that I would set the example for my 4 sons which I would like them to emulate.
I'd like to think all of those things.

So why do I sit here craving a cigarette?

Back from vacation!

I just got back from a week long cruise to Mexico. I’ll probably put up some pictures later, but here is the short version of my trip.

Short List of Things I learned in Mexico:
- “Drive it like you stole it” is more than just a punk catchphrase – it is a way of life for these people. There are only two positions for the gas pedal: up and down.
- The price is always negotiable.
- The beaches in Cabo San Lucas are not comprised of sand – they are very fine gravel which makes for clear water, but it sucks to walk on barefoot.
- Even in the most barren looking village, you can still find two things: Coke and Vendors selling touristy crap.
- Traffic signals, lane markings, traffic signs and turn signals are all just for decoration. The only thing that matters is that you roll down the window, look back, and wave your arm at someone just before you cut them off.
- Cobblestone streets are quaint – and also very rough.
- Wal-Mart is everywhere.
- So is Costco.

Short List of Things I learned on the Cruise Ship:
- Cops will recognize each other no matter where they are.
- Check to be sure that there is not a gathering of “Hogs on the High Seas” going on your cruise unless you want to see A LOT of skin you’d rather not be seeing.
- Bikers will recognize cops, and cops will recognize bikers, no matter where they are.
- Simon Cowell’s insults of “that was a cruise ship performance” are much meaner than I thought.
- Cannonballs are not allowed in the indoor pool.
- Especially if you are the second one.
- You aren’t supposed to take your pocketknife through the security checkpoints, but the ship’s first officer will only give you a warning if he thinks you are a cop, especially if 1100 of the ships 2100 passengers are intoxicated bikers.

I don't like being a mushroom

Frequently at my current full-time job, I feel like I must be a mushroom. Because mushrooms are kept in the dark and fed manure.
Today I had a fun experience where the wheels fell off the project I've been working on the last couple of weeks. I was missing several VITAL pieces of information, that were critical to my project turning out successfully.
So I look like a complete and total moron, when it really wasn't my fault. That is kind of par for the course recently. No one seems to have a handle on what they want to accomplish, so I end up programming at a moving target, one that not only moves frequently, but also one which I don't have vital information about.
This sucks. :(

Engineering vs Design

Ran into the following comment today, and it becomes especially relevant to me because as of late, I've been tasked with much creative design work on client websites, despite the fact that my idea of design likely differs greatly from what was wanted.

I've been charged with making a specific user interface style guide for a suite of software by my employer. I'm not quite sure where to start

You don't know where to start because you don't work as a tech writer!

Tell your tightwad boss to pick someone more suited to the task - Even the weenies in Marketing can probably do the task better than an engineer (unless you just happen to have a background in technical writing, but it sounds like that doesn't fit into your job description/requirements).

Geeks can do anything - That doesn't always make us the best person for every job even tangentially related to "computers". If you want me to design a website, I can make it do anything HTML supports, but prepare for a color scheme that makes most people's eyes bleed...

I think that management at my company could use this advice.

I build websites & user interfaces the way I build furniture.

Out of Logs.

It's big, it's clunky, and it works well for its intended purpose, even if it is a bit over-engineered for the task at hand.
While this can be a beauty of its own when building furniture, it is quite something else when it ends up as a user interface.

Artificial Traffic

My morning commute is usually not too bad. I go to work pretty early specifically in order to avoid traffic. If I leave home at 7AM, I'm usually at my desk by 7:30. If I leave home at 8AM, I'll be lucky to make it to work by 9AM.

I included the qualifying phrase "usually" primarily due to one thing: Artificial Traffic.
Artificial Traffic is a term that I invented to describe when there are a fair number of cars on the road, but not enough that there should be significant delays in traffic, yet the delays exist anyway.

There are a few causes of Artificial Traffic, such as rubbernecking at a vehicle which has been pulled over by the police, some event off the highway attracting attention, etc...
The most frequent and enraging cause of Artificial Traffic is some cell-phone yakking idiot who has parked in the left lane doing 1.6 Miles Per Hour faster than the Dump Truck in the next lane over.

These idiots are completely oblivious to the 2 miles of traffic which has backed up behind them despite the 2 miles of open freeway ahead of them.

In my not so humble opinion, these bone-heads are the number 1 reason for road rage.
The dumbest road-rage things I see people do tend to take place not when everbody is going slow, but when there is some total jerk causing Artificial Traffic.

A special place in Hell is reserved for anybody causing Artificial Traffic.

Way to go, NBC!

I don't watch much television. Aside from catching the news, there are few shows I watch regularly, and none that I deem worthy enough to sit down and watch live except sports.
That being said, this last couple of years has truly sucked. I haven't been watching much football since the college teams I watch have been taken away from me by that brilliant idea of Comcast, called "The Mountain". Essentially, most of the games for teams in the Mountain West Conference are only available if you sell your soul to Comcast. I swore off Comcast years ago, so there goes most of the sports I watch.

But I digress...

The one bright spot I looked forward to, as long as I could find it, was Scrubs. I've been a big Scrubs fan from the first season. But NBC made it difficult, if not impossible to watch because they have never left it in the same spot for even a full season. The only way I've been able to fill in the blanks from the episodes I missed due to schedule changes has been the insane number of re-runs now in syndication, on Comedy Central and the local CW affiliate. I knew that this was going to be the last season, but now it sounds like even that will be denied - with the conclusion of the writers strike, NBC has not yet decided if it is even worth it to put the show back into production long enough to wrap it up.

Thanks for nothing, NBC. I guess that I should be grateful that you have given me one half hour of extra free time each week, but even that would be generous, given that you have done your very best to ensure that no one could ever count on that half hour being at a consistent time on a consistent day.

Thank Heaven for Four Wheel Drive

Last night, I found myself to be again thankful that I drive a four wheel drive pickup. It saved me from a half-hour detention in a drive through.
I went to Taco Bell for some food (I know, guilty pleasure), and upon reaching the speaker box the McEmployee told me "Just so you know, there is a half-hour wait." I said "Are you serious?", but got no reply. There were three cars ahead of me, and three behind me. The car at the window was being handed food, so I thought that maybe the McEmployee was just screwing around when she said that. The car at the window got their food, and drove off. I waited for another couple of minutes, and the McEmployee comes back on and said again "Thank you for choosing Taco Bell, just so you know, there is a half-hour wait." I again asked "Are you being serious?" McEmployee said "Yes, sir. I am being totally serious. It is going to be a half hour wait." Then she wouldn't respond anymore. I'm sitting in a drive through which is the kind that locks you in with curbs on both sides, cars in front of me and behind me, and Miss $7.00 an hour McEmployee has just told me that in essence I am going to be detained for a half hour.

Not This cowboy...

Instead of waiting around while Miss McEmployee earns $3.50 (And costs me $15 worth of MY time), I decide that, yes, I have enough ground clearance. I turned my wheels and Taco Bell employees grouped around the drive-up window watched as I drove up over the curb, across the snow covered grass and sidewalk, and out on to the street.

Thank heaven for Four Wheel Drive.