Monday Meanderings - 1.23.2012

While the Northwest is being blanketed with snow, we are having spring-like weather here in ATX. It was so balmy the other morning I took my coffee to the patio - and discovered that if the trees are bare (it is still winter, after all), then the sun shines directly into your face. Oh, I get it! In the winter you do afternoon coffee on the patio. Works for me.

Medicare sends quarterly statements showing what they paid various doctors over the past few months. We got a statement this past week that was prepared in South Carolina, showing a charge from a doctor in Prarieville, Louisiana, for a service that was performed in Fresno, California.

And speaking of doctors and such, the surgical center where Barb had her procedure last week has called a couple of times, leaving messages that they wanted to follow up and make sure she was doing okay. Barb won't let me call them and apologize for missing their calls, "what with all the funeral plans, etc." No sense of humor.

Barb came home the other day with the newest in the series of the "Eat This, Not That" books. If you are not familiar with this series, the books contrast a healthier suggestion for what is usually a more popular (and less healthy) choice. This latest book is a guide to popular restaurants, with suggestions for best choices from the current menu. For instance, at Outback Steakhouse, choose the Teriyaki Marinated Sirloin (418 calories, 12g fat) as opposed to the Baby Back Ribs (3,021 calories, 242 g fat). I looked through the book, and discovered that all the things we like to eat at our favorite restaurants are on the right-hand page. You know, the one that starts, "Not That!"

I've previously written about cowbells and their use at football games. I came across this the other day: empty propane tanks with a number of steel ball bearings inside.

 

Take that, SEC! 

The cars in my life (My First) - stories for my grandchildren

 

In my Sophomore year in college, I became quite enamored with a sporty little French-made Renault Dauphine. Like the very popular VW bug, it was a rear-engine car but had 4 doors, a 4 cylinder engine labeled the 4CV, or quatre chevaux, which quite literally translates as "four horses." All-in-all, that's a pretty good description of the power of this little vehicle. which on a straight-away (like the Winters Freeway) could achieve 67 miles-per-hour. Max.

The dealer let me drive the car for a weekend while I made up my mind, and I gathered 3 friends and took the car out to Abilene State Park for some fun in the windy roads and trails out there. That was also a weekend that the National Guard was engaged in some maneuvers at the Park. We had stopped mid-road to switch drivers when we heard the ominous clank of a half-track around a curve and we just got the car back in gear and moving before a big Army truck roared around the bend. I have often wondered just how I would have explained to the nice man at the dealership that his tiny little car was now a blip on a tank tread.

The Dauphine could seat four, but on occasion, a fifth person would curl up in the luggage compartment, which of course, was in the front of the car. My brother-in-law-to-be Thayne often drew this position. Since the "hood" tilted forward starting at the windshield, he could sit in the compartment with his head out, just in front of the windshield, and watch where were were going, waving at passers-by.

With mileage of better than 40 mpg, it was cheaper for me to drive home to Breckenridge, let my mother do my laundry, eat some home cooking, and drive back to the dorm than it was to go to the laundromat. Not that I ever went to the laundromat, mind you. Plus, with the gear shift floor-mounted, it was a great car for dating. Was it my fault that the girls knee was right where I needed to move the gear shift? I have to mention that when I demonstrated that particular move to Barb early in our dating, it almost changed the course of history, in that there almost was no history!

I'm happy to say that she married me anyway, but I almost didn't make it to the wedding. When I started out for Port Lavaca, the little Dauphine began to seriously overheat. We turned around (Thayne and my roommate Skeet were with me) and limped to Breckenridge and borrowed my parent's car. leaving the Renault in Breckenridge for repair. After we were established in Dallas, my folks drove the car to Dallas to swap. The thought of my Mom and Dad in that little car amuses me still.

Alas, the overheating was just the beginning of a slow but sure decline. Let me just say that while the French may have many skills, building automobiles is not one of them. The Dauphine disappeared from the marketplace by 1960.

Next, the Detroit years...

Dissidence, riots and other holiday behavior

I witnessed - nay, was part of, a couple of interesting crowd interactions recently. Both occurred at the Austin-Bergstrom International airport. Outbound, we had finally achieved the TSA Good Housekeeping Seal of Approval, having performed all of the tricks required in the security theater of the absurd, and we were now comfortably waiting for our flight to be called.

All the sudden, a loud siren went off, followed by a recorded announcement that said, "An emergency has been reported. All occupants please locate the nearest stairway and proceed to the ground floor." Nobody moved. Not a twitch. We all sat there thinking, "If I have to leave, then come back through security again, I am not responsible for my actions." So we all just sat and looked at each other, wondering who was going to blink first.

Meanwhile the announcement was repeated over and over. We're all watching the Southwest gate agent, waiting to see what his reaction/action would be. He was on the phone, but didn't seem concerned, so we all took our cue from him and continued to cautiously, nervously sit there.

Finally, there was just a series of siren sounds, and the announcement stopped. So, at this point we're not sure if we are the only people left on the concourse, or the announcement equipment just went up in flames, or what. I'm looking at the exit gate, thinking, "If a wall of flame and smoke comes our way, we're going down the Jetway and taking the stairs down to the apron outside." Of course, doing that will probably land us in jail as terrorists, but at least we will not be crispy critters.

During all this, not one person made any move to leave. In about 5 minutes, someone came on the PA and said, "Nevermind. It was a false alarm" and we all looked smugly at each other, as if to say, "I knew that."

The second behavior event occurred outside the terminal after we returned, when we participated in a riot. Well, I did, anyway; Barb showed a lot more restraint. Some 3 or 4 flights had all arrived within minutes of each other, and the baggage area was jam- packed. It took a while to claim our bags and then we went outside to join the throng waiting for a shuttle bus to remote parking. It was late, approaching midnight, cold, and it appeared there were only a few buses in operation, covering the Near lots, the Remote lots, and during peak travel periods, such as this, the Cargo lot. I don't know the capacity of each bus, probably no more than 16 passengers, and there were probably 50 in our Remote lot queue alone, with more arriving by the minute.

As we waited and shivered, the muttering grew louder, and when a bus would appear and turn out to be for a lot other than Remote, the mutterings would turn to angry groans. After a period, I heard one side of several phone conversations, no doubt in response to a recorded message on the Airport Shuttle number, stating pleasantries, such as "I'll never ride your bleep shuttle again!" A couple of women had taken a more active role, stepping out into traffic to direct a bus, any bus, to our loading point, or going down to the Cargo lot bus to deliver in person messages similar to those being left on the phone.

The tipping point occurred when a Remote lot bus stopped - not at our queue - but at the end of the line closest to the Cargo lot and began taking on passengers down the way! The two vocal women immediately ran down to the bus and verbally assaulted the driver and possibly the boarding passengers. It was hard to tell what was being said to whom; I just know it was loud and angry.

It was apparently effective, because the driver closed the door and drove up to our load point, whereupon about 20 people stormed aboard. The driver is yelling at the excess passengers, the two women are giving the driver what for, and it's possible that I quietly and politely suggested to the driver that it would be prudent to get a manager on the radio, if only for her safety!

The excess passengers were off-loaded, the angry driver drove away, and we all held our breath in anticipation of what was going to happen next. Fortunately, the next bus was also Remote lot; the driver immediately took charge of the situation, 16 more of us, including one of the shouting ladies climbed aboard, and if there was a riot, we didn't read about in the paper the following morning.

Which all goes to show that people are the strangest folks I know. And Holiday cheer can be stretched to a breaking point.

Monday Meanderings - 1.16.2011

Checking my notes, it would appear that I didn't wander all that much this weak. Pretty sparse on things to report.

A couple of days were invested in getting the spouse through a certain medical procedure - the one that shall not be named, but involves drinking a few gallons of foul tasting liquids ahead of time. She's pretty happy that since everything is OK, she's done with that unpleasantness, since 10 years puts her beyond the time range that they recommend the procedure. I, on the other hand...

And speaking of doctor visits, I really wanted to tell my eye doctor that if he is going to spend 20 minutes on the phone arranging to lease or buy a hunting lodge in Montana while I am waiting on him in the exam room, he should at least shut his door so I think he's doing something important during that time.

I've mentioned this event before, but here's your chance to participate in a real iconic bit of Austin weirdness. Sign up now for the Austin Gorilla Run next Saturday. The registration fee for the 5K fund raiser includes a full gorilla costume, which you get to keep. I'm pretty sure no one else wants a gorilla suit after you have run a 5K race in it, so that makes good sense.

Went to a funeral home for a visitation the other evening. That seems to be an event that happens with increasing frequency, by the way. We sort of figured that we were in the wrong section of the funeral home when everyone we saw had a white sash tied around his head. Not our tradition.

And it's rare to have an orchid bloom in the middle of the winter. What is even more rare is for the bloom to have leaves! Look at this bloom, and the stem behind it. Leaves!

I learned that this is a Keiki - the beginnings of a new orchid. It will put out air roots, as well as leaves, and can be removed and potted. Cool!

Enjoy Martin Luther King day. I hope it's a holiday for you, as it is for me. Oh, wait...

The cars in my life - stories for my grandchildren. Part 1

The early years:

According to popular journalism, the male of the human species maintains a life-long love affair with automobiles. He recalls each one of them with more fondness than that reserved for old girl friends, and if the literature is to be believed, sometimes the current women in his life. I am not that male. It has taken me a while to reconstruct my automobile history, and I'm frankly a little vague about certain years and models. A true auto-aficionado would not be as hesitant as I am.

I was more interested in the auto as a means of independent transportation than I was as an expression of my identity, or manhood, or charisma, and that started at an early age. In those days, a parental word to a friendly magistrate got you a driver's license at age 14. Not a cheater's permit - a full fledged license. You still had to take the driving test, which I did. Twice. But at 14, I was on the road.

The family auto at the time was a 1955 Pontiac Star Chief. It was far and away more auto than my father expected to buy, and he probably would have passed it over for something plainer but for the fact that while he was test driving it, he and five other gentlemen from church were asked to be pall-bearers at a funeral. He and the others all rode together, in air conditioned comfort, from the church to a remote cemetery on a blistering hot Texas afternoon, and by the time he got back, the deal was done. Air conditioning was new, and it was a big deal in those days.

I admit that this auto did help my self image as a fledgling driver; it was big, fancy-looking, and it could take most of my friend's cars in the quarter mile. In theory, at least; I'm neither admitting nor denying anything. It was slow off the line, but the engine was bigger than most, and by the end of the race, I usually overtook all comers. And that big engine made it very fast, if the road was straight and long. Or so I assume. It had bench seats (and no seat belts) so it was a good car for dating, as well. Again, in theory.

 

And yes, it was blue and white - though the blue was more sky blue than this picture shows.

Alas, this was not the only family car. My father acquired an older model Plymouth - probably a 1950 model - with the super-sharp external visor. THIS car became my primary means of transportation. Perhaps because of the alarming number of miles being added to the Pontiac. Surely it couldn't have been the prodigious amount of fuel used; gasoline was only 16 cents a gallon in those days!

The Plymouth needed a ring job, and my father and I did this ourselves. Well, he did it and I fetched. Afterwards, the rings were so tight that the starter could not crank a cold engine, so it was necessary to park the car on a hill so as to get a rolling start. If one parked nose-in, you either had to leave the engine running while you ran your errand, or you had to be back out in mere minutes before the engine cooled.

I learned an important lesson while driving this car. It was common knowledge that if you turned off the engine of an auto and coasted down the hill on East Walker, when you turned the key back on, the car would backfire. Did you know that if you waited a very, very long time to turn the key back on, the resulting backfire was capable of blowing the muffler right off the car? Split that sucker right down the seam and blew fiberglass packing all over the road! Theoretically.

But the car I took to school was a Chevy coupe, painted Bell Grey, with a round shiny spot on each door where the Bell Telephone logo had been rubbed off and the spot painted over. Surplus company cars were auctioned off, and it was common for the men who drove them, and were familiar with them, to buy them at auction.

As you might suspect, there aren't many "Bell Telephone Grey" photos out there. You'll just have to use your imagination!

Next: My First...