20 Things I Learned From Outages
Deadly A-Salt
Harvested from almost every corner of the planet, used extensively in homes of millions if not billions of people worldwide. It's obvious that this foe is not going to loosen its grip anytime in the near future. It has you where it wants you, always shaking and thirsting for more. Lets face it, salt is a naughty spice. Is it a spice or a seasoning? Is there a difference? I want to say spices come from roots, but I'm not sure. Regardless, I always think of spices as exotic, like nutmeg, coriander or galangal. Salt is just so familiar. Like your friendly neighborhood grocer.
#START: OFF THE BEATEN PATH RANT
What is up with the name grocer. Could there be a worse occupational title? Hello! It sounds, from his title, that this man is just mired in filth all day long. "Rotten Produce! Get your rotten produce here!!"
Maker of barrels: Cooper.
Exchanger of monies: Banker.
Liar and kisser of babies: Politician.
Purveyor of food goods: Grocer.
Personal I think someone drew the short straw on this one!
#END: OFF THE BEATEN PATH RANT
Anyway...
Salt is just so familiar. Like...well...like a close friend. You just couldn't imagine the world without them. Little did you know that this close friend of yours, was an evil fiend of the highest order, ready to stab you in the back.
1. Salt makes you thirsty. Easy proven, eat salty foods, and you get thirsty.
"Well, it still really tastes good. I suppose I can let this one go. So I'll drink a bit more water, soda or grape Kool-Aid. I'm certainly not giving up salt!"
2. Salt bloats you. Even in small amounts, you require more liquids, but salt is a greedy master and will not relinquish that liquid willingly.
"So I retain a little extra water, it's just salts nature. It's not like it's doing it on purpose. What do I care if I can't spin my wedding ring anymore."
3. Salt makes you hungry. A common tool by enterprising restaurants who give out free appetizers loaded with salt, to further their own food sales. They even go so far to put a shaker on the table, so you can 'have a bit more'. Bit by bit, you eat yourself into a bloated stuffed salt surrendering trophy piece.
"It's not salts fault that I eat too, much. I'd probably overeat even without salts loving nudges. Salt is a friend of mine. There is no way you can make me stop salting my fries!"
Salt can kill you. This fact long known by snails, slugs and dandelions, salt is a low down murder disguised in your fancy ceramic pug dog shaker! Excessive salt can raise your risk of hypertension, edema, ulcers and stomach cancer. In fact if you consume enough salt (about 1 g per kg of body weight) you can just die from that. Salt isn't your friend, in fact salt will only be truly happy if you are dead, smiling out from the Morton's cylinder with glee and joy.
"Salt is Evil!"
Yes my friends, your best friend might be your worst nightmare. Salt is evil. Now... where did I put my sea-salt and vinegar chips?!
Reincarnating Inanimate Objects
With a title like that, you just had to click and see.
"Okay Peter, what nonsense are you going to start driveling on about now?"
No, it's true. I'm reincarnating inanimate objects with the hope of monetary gain. I've reincarnated a rather unattractive wood pallet into, what I believe is a very cool table. How's that for a step up in caste? Sure beats coming back as a cow.
Patricia and I have been trying to figure out what to call this table creation. She thought it reminded her of a tiki stlye. I was going for green, or recycled. This might surprise some of you out there, until it occurs to you, that down deep I'm a capitalist. This means that I believe everyone's money spends the same. My goal is to try and get some of it and test that theory. So if it sells tables, I'll cave.
After a good deal of 'discussing' we compromised. Its a rustic/'green'/tiki bar/western/reincarnated pallet table. Well. I hope that helps to clear it up for you. It's definitely rustic. I didn't plane down the top to a smooth surface. That might be because I like the cool ridges and small bumps that let me know where the wood came from. Sort of it's soul. Or it might be that I don't own an electric thickness planer and after three hours with a hand rasp and sheet of sandpaper I passed out in a sweaty heap at the base of my workbench, thus declaring that stage, 'completed'. I'll let you decide which is true.
I have to say for my first table, and given the state of the raw materials, it is very well built. I came out square and level. It's a little wobbly at the edges, due to the fact I made the base a bit to small. But all in all, I tried to apply good techniques while building it. Patricia found me a really cool cabinetry book published back in the mid 60's. It has really given me a base for understanding furniture construction and classic methods. Its also cool to see men with Vitalis in their hair, wearing slacks and dress shirts assembling furniture.
Besides a small piece of plywood used to attach the tabletop to the center post, every bit of this table was recycled from a pallet. I took said pallet, and a couple others, from my office. After a number of weeks, a fistful of slivers, cuts, and a good deal of fun. This table appeared on my workbench. This table just oozes interesting. And it's an instant conversation piece.
I posted it up on craigslist this morning. So now the hope is that someone, somewhere will think to themselves:
"You know what I need? I sturdy, rustic table with an uneven surface, made from the remnants of a shipping pallet, to put all my really important stuff on. I wonder if I can find one of those?"
"Guess what? I might just know where you could find something like that!"
"Okay Peter, what nonsense are you going to start driveling on about now?"
No, it's true. I'm reincarnating inanimate objects with the hope of monetary gain. I've reincarnated a rather unattractive wood pallet into, what I believe is a very cool table. How's that for a step up in caste? Sure beats coming back as a cow.
Patricia and I have been trying to figure out what to call this table creation. She thought it reminded her of a tiki stlye. I was going for green, or recycled. This might surprise some of you out there, until it occurs to you, that down deep I'm a capitalist. This means that I believe everyone's money spends the same. My goal is to try and get some of it and test that theory. So if it sells tables, I'll cave.
After a good deal of 'discussing' we compromised. Its a rustic/'green'/tiki bar/western/reincarnated pallet table. Well. I hope that helps to clear it up for you. It's definitely rustic. I didn't plane down the top to a smooth surface. That might be because I like the cool ridges and small bumps that let me know where the wood came from. Sort of it's soul. Or it might be that I don't own an electric thickness planer and after three hours with a hand rasp and sheet of sandpaper I passed out in a sweaty heap at the base of my workbench, thus declaring that stage, 'completed'. I'll let you decide which is true.
I have to say for my first table, and given the state of the raw materials, it is very well built. I came out square and level. It's a little wobbly at the edges, due to the fact I made the base a bit to small. But all in all, I tried to apply good techniques while building it. Patricia found me a really cool cabinetry book published back in the mid 60's. It has really given me a base for understanding furniture construction and classic methods. Its also cool to see men with Vitalis in their hair, wearing slacks and dress shirts assembling furniture.
Besides a small piece of plywood used to attach the tabletop to the center post, every bit of this table was recycled from a pallet. I took said pallet, and a couple others, from my office. After a number of weeks, a fistful of slivers, cuts, and a good deal of fun. This table appeared on my workbench. This table just oozes interesting. And it's an instant conversation piece.
I posted it up on craigslist this morning. So now the hope is that someone, somewhere will think to themselves:
"You know what I need? I sturdy, rustic table with an uneven surface, made from the remnants of a shipping pallet, to put all my really important stuff on. I wonder if I can find one of those?"
"Guess what? I might just know where you could find something like that!"
A Passing Decade
Ten years have passed since the last time I dressed up in a tuxedo. A lot can happen over ten years. It's amazing when you look back at a span of years and realize what path your life has taken and where you have evolved to as a person, couple and family. Things like moving six times, cycling through 7 different jobs, buying two houses, the birth of two children, losing people that you loved, making new friends, and the fading of others. Holding conversations with youths that you can recall in diapers, and wondering what became of people that you used to know so well.
The last time I wore a tuxedo was on my wedding day. Over ten years ago. Ten years. Wow.
Life is hard. Marriage is work. You don't know that when you're standing there, at the base of the aisle, as your bride-to-be, decked out in all her beauty and glory, comes marching down to be with you forever after. All you are thinking, is "I love her. That will be enough." And it is for a time. But life isn't all about tuxedos, gowns and white packages that say "many happy returns". Those many happy returns are yours to work out. A note can't do much on it's own. Love is not the flutter in your chest. Love runs much deeper, so deep that some days it's hard to find. Marriage isn't always easy. Sometimes it sucks.
In ten short years I have generated a thousand tearful encounters from my thoughtless words and deeds. I have yelled when I should have been understanding, and silent when I should have consoled. I've seen days pass in conflict while solutions are avoided and disregard due to my anger and self pity. I find that 'Why can't you just be this' or 'Why did you do it like this?' are frequent used arrows in my quiver of domestic vocabulary, and that the salve of 'I appreciate everything you do' is, at many times, so very hard to find. In ten years I have created dozens of catastrophes, agonies and broken my share of dishes and hearts.
In ten short years I've uttered ten thousand 'I sorry's, I've begged for forgiveness when it had been handed out so freely only moments before. I've purchased more flowers and boxes of tissue than I can even recall. At times I've felt like a villain and days I was sure I was a saint. Arguments, fights and defeats are a normal part of life. They cannot altogether be avoided, but if you believe you will never see them, then you are assured to find yourself mired in them.
In ten short years, I have been blessed with countess 'I love you's and buried under welcome piles 'thank you's and hugs. I've smiled, sung, danced, and lived happier than any other period in my life. I've laughed with my bride about things, just to laugh and walked hand in hand down the dirtiest street with a smile on my face. I've basked in the glow of her smile and been ignited over her joy of things that had faded to mere embers in my soul. Disneyland, tacos, Christmas, and piles of sharp cheddar cheese to name but a few.
Today you have a chance to recall your ups and downs. Embrace the ups. Recall the love and hope and joy but don't forget the downs. Not so you can dwell on them, but rather as a marker to remind you where you've come from. If you don't remember where you've been, you might find yourself driving back that way someday.
Decades pass and life goes on. Today I've remember that flutter in my heart, standing at the base of church waiting for my life to start and I can't wait to start a fresh again.
Geeks In Mass
So here I am in a classy hotel conference room, listening to an articulate, well groomed marketing rep from a large computer manufacturing firm talking to a pile of greasy, unkempt socially inept geeky network administrators and managers. It's a very interesting way to spend a day.
Geeks are so not cool. Well we are, but not to others. Geeks have a hierarchy just like any society, but it's not based on any traditional pecking order. Not muscle or looks, but mostly aptitude. Applied to any specialized geek field. The geek who knows the most about a particular subject is higher ranked in geekyness and therefore cool. To an outsider you would have trouble sticking a 'cool' label on many of these guys. I say guys, because out of the sixty some odd geeks in the room, there were two females. Both of whom must have been managers, due to their constant furrowed brows during the presentations.
While staring up at the person on the dais in the front of the heavily chandeliered room, I imagined that the marketing people, who were running the show, where the same jocks and cheerleaders who used to shun and jeer these new found "clients". Trying desperately to interact with us, while not having a clue why we are the way we are. Meanwhile the geeks are staring blankly at a bubbly smiling, excited glee-squad-leader trying to get an ounce of emotion from the pale faced masses. Sorry. No dice.
As I look around I see people doing what I'm doing. Nodding sometimes while interfacing with their PDA.
Questions? The geeks look up. A handful of palms raise.
"I'd like to ask a crazy theoretical techy question that has nothing whatsoever to do with your perky presentation."
"Great question. See me after, so I can pretend to care about your dorky question later. Just don't come to close to my crisply pressed trousers."
So the manicured hand and shiny haired individual continues without missing a beat. She smiles, cracks witty well rehearsed jokes, and laughs alone to herself. Probably thinking something like.
"How did I come to this point in my life? Pandering to people I would normally give a wide berth on the street."
The truth is simply this. Geeks don't do interaction well. I'm sorry, its just who we are.
Hey, is that the new smart phone on your hip?
Geeks are so not cool. Well we are, but not to others. Geeks have a hierarchy just like any society, but it's not based on any traditional pecking order. Not muscle or looks, but mostly aptitude. Applied to any specialized geek field. The geek who knows the most about a particular subject is higher ranked in geekyness and therefore cool. To an outsider you would have trouble sticking a 'cool' label on many of these guys. I say guys, because out of the sixty some odd geeks in the room, there were two females. Both of whom must have been managers, due to their constant furrowed brows during the presentations.
While staring up at the person on the dais in the front of the heavily chandeliered room, I imagined that the marketing people, who were running the show, where the same jocks and cheerleaders who used to shun and jeer these new found "clients". Trying desperately to interact with us, while not having a clue why we are the way we are. Meanwhile the geeks are staring blankly at a bubbly smiling, excited glee-squad-leader trying to get an ounce of emotion from the pale faced masses. Sorry. No dice.
As I look around I see people doing what I'm doing. Nodding sometimes while interfacing with their PDA.
Questions? The geeks look up. A handful of palms raise.
"I'd like to ask a crazy theoretical techy question that has nothing whatsoever to do with your perky presentation."
"Great question. See me after, so I can pretend to care about your dorky question later. Just don't come to close to my crisply pressed trousers."
So the manicured hand and shiny haired individual continues without missing a beat. She smiles, cracks witty well rehearsed jokes, and laughs alone to herself. Probably thinking something like.
"How did I come to this point in my life? Pandering to people I would normally give a wide berth on the street."
The truth is simply this. Geeks don't do interaction well. I'm sorry, its just who we are.
Hey, is that the new smart phone on your hip?
Republican Rant
I found myself typing up a political rant that I wanted to post. KludgeSpot is not place for serious political conversations, even one sided ones. If you want to weigh in, I would enjoy hearing your viewpoints.
You can do so here.
You can do so here.
Title Offerings
There are days when I find that I have more fun coming up with the title of my post than actually writing anything. Recently these days have become more frequent. I'm having trouble thinking of the inconsequential more and more often. My head is involved in politics and work. Two things that do little to add to the inane and bizarre profundities that you all seem so keen on. So...for no other reason than my sheer desire to have something new on my page, I offer you some titles that have been floating in my head. I have tried to make a couple into posts, but don't get much further than a sentence or two. As such, I'm submitting them to the public, to use, and abuse and change. If you do use one... I'd like to know so I can read it.
Ten Posts With Only A Title-
"Fitting Straight Jackets" (It's a little tight around the waist)
"The Awful Truth Of Shoe Leather" (Dogs and toddlers agree)
"Beating Kittens" (There is a special place in my heart for this one)
"When Coffee Cups Attack" (A recent nightmare of mine)
"The Fingernail Facade" (What are they hiding...?)
"Of Paper Airplanes And Wooden Shoes" (When the real thing just won't do)
"Licking Bob Jones" (Punching or tasting...it's your choice)
"Dead Lifting Servers" (A geeks workout routine)
"Jumping To Belafonte" (Like you've never tried it?!)
"Escape From The Pickle Plant" (...I have no idea where this one came from...)
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