Sell Hell? A Modest List of Possibilities
From CNNMoney.com: (quote) The Internet domain name Hell.com is scheduled to be sold at a live auction Friday, with organizers expecting bids of more than $1 million. . . . [Hell.com is owned by] BAT Flli LLC, a creative think tank whose founder, 57-year-old Kenneth Aronson, registered the name in 1995 . . . Since then, it has been home to a secretive online community, a project Aronson says will benefit from the proceeds of the Hell.com, which gets about 5,000 new visitors daily, the paper said. Aronson told the Journal he won't sell Hell.com for less than several million dollars. "Hell.com is one of the most powerful brands on the Earth," Aronson said. (end quote)
This raises numerous questions: a secretive community built around "hell.com"? Whoa-ho-ho, now that's a conspiracy theorist's dream. Are the blogs onto this? One of the most powerful brands on Earth? Add in the afterlife and that's a really, really powerful brand. But what about buyers? What use will they make of this domain name?
In the interest of being a helpful soul (and bettering my chances in the world to come), herewith a modest list of suggested uses for the new and, no doubt, improved, hell.com:
www.hell.com/seat=selector--pick your seat for that next 16 hour flight to Japan. Choose from: mother with three children under four with loose diapers and 120 decibel screams directly in front of you; portly man with questionable hygiene and braided nose hair to your left; man who says "so sorry" after sneezing into your dinner entre, repeatedly, to your right.
www.hell.com/healthinfo/customer*service--Get the number for the toll line, 666-666-6666 (666 rings later) "To change your current plan, press 1; to obtain new ID cards, press 2; to obtain authorization for urgent medical services to treat potentially life-threatening conditions, use your touchpad as a calculator and enter the square root of the last four digits of your social security number."
www.hell.com/single!mingle--choose a potential new mate from profiles meticulously verified by terminated staff writers of the National Inquirer to insure that any mentally healthy person who has left his or her issues behind is not included. All photos are approximations of the person's real appearance. Anyone you call will immediately develop extreme dependency needs that only you can attempt to meet without success.
www.hell.com/commute+quest--enter your home address and your work address. Let commute+quest find a route that detours you through one construction delay after another, insuring that you arrive at work shortly before quitting time and that you arrive home shortly before time to leave for work. Includes diagrammed hand gestures and vocabulary suggestions.
www.hell.com/virtualrealtor\homes!--tour, make offers, and finance a new home on-line with guaranteed results! All homes come with full warranties (all provisions voided by incomprehensible legalese in 6 pt type on last page); guaranteed substandard wiring, plumbing, and appliances; flood, fire, and earthquake hazards guaranteed; all neighbors are out on bail for meth, crack, or assault, guaranteed.
Sunday, October 22, 2006
A Clever Democrat Ploy
Michigan Governor Jennifer "Oh, Canada" Granholm recently sent me some campaign literature. I was immediately impressed by another brilliant Democratic Party ploy to make Gov. Granholm appear more like a Republican. In fact, she looks a lot like that greatest of all Republicans, Abe Lincoln. On a really good hair day, at least for Abe. Pretty amazing, eh?
Thursday, October 19, 2006
So What the Columbus Zoo Am I Anyway?
We have a team development project going at work now--using an assessment tool called "Leading from Your Strengths." Some of you may already have done this sort of inventory. Twenty-four questions in about 10 minutes, and then you get a description of your leadership style as represented by one or more of four animals.
Choices are: Lion, Otter, Golden Retriever, Beaver
"So what are you?" gentle readers may ask. Guess.
We have a team development project going at work now--using an assessment tool called "Leading from Your Strengths." Some of you may already have done this sort of inventory. Twenty-four questions in about 10 minutes, and then you get a description of your leadership style as represented by one or more of four animals.
Choices are: Lion, Otter, Golden Retriever, Beaver
"So what are you?" gentle readers may ask. Guess.
Monday, October 16, 2006
A Modest List of Things John Calvin
His favorite jeans?
His favorite college?
His favorite president?
His favorite NFL running back?
His favorite comic strip?
His favorite chemical sequence?
His favorite New York literati?
His Favorite NBA player?
___________________
Calvin Kleins (but not too tight and not too low)
Calvin College (naturally, their sweatshirt with his Calvin Kleins)
Calvin "Silent Cal" Coolidge (30th President of these here United States--Dorothy Parker, who upon being informed of his death, sardonically asked, "How could they tell?)
Calvin Hill (first Dallas Cowboy to have 1,000 yards rushing in a season and a team with great cheerleaders)
Calvin and Hobbes (but just for the philosophical parts)
The Calvin Cycle (featuring his personal obsession--carbon fixation!)
Calvin Trillin (staff writer for the venerable if not creaky New Yorker just because he likes the funny last name)
Grant Hill (of the Detroit Pistons and Orlando Magic, nepotisically relate to Calvin Hill above)
His favorite jeans?
His favorite college?
His favorite president?
His favorite NFL running back?
His favorite comic strip?
His favorite chemical sequence?
His favorite New York literati?
His Favorite NBA player?
___________________
Calvin Kleins (but not too tight and not too low)
Calvin College (naturally, their sweatshirt with his Calvin Kleins)
Calvin "Silent Cal" Coolidge (30th President of these here United States--Dorothy Parker, who upon being informed of his death, sardonically asked, "How could they tell?)
Calvin Hill (first Dallas Cowboy to have 1,000 yards rushing in a season and a team with great cheerleaders)
Calvin and Hobbes (but just for the philosophical parts)
The Calvin Cycle (featuring his personal obsession--carbon fixation!)
Calvin Trillin (staff writer for the venerable if not creaky New Yorker just because he likes the funny last name)
Grant Hill (of the Detroit Pistons and Orlando Magic, nepotisically relate to Calvin Hill above)
What Did Grand Rapids Do To John Piper?
Prominent pastor and Reformed theology meister John Piper recently was quoted in Christianity Today (Sept. 2006) as saying, "I think the criticism of Reformed theology is being silenced by the mission and justice and evangelism and worship and counseling. . . . We're not off in a Grand Rapids ghetto crossing our t's and dotting our i's and telling the world to get their act together."
Hmmm. . . . I work in a Grand Rapids ghetto. I mostly cross my t's and dot my i's, but am occasionally careless in this regard. BUT I don't tell the world to get its act together. Unless I'm driving. So what does that make me? Am I Reformable?
Prominent pastor and Reformed theology meister John Piper recently was quoted in Christianity Today (Sept. 2006) as saying, "I think the criticism of Reformed theology is being silenced by the mission and justice and evangelism and worship and counseling. . . . We're not off in a Grand Rapids ghetto crossing our t's and dotting our i's and telling the world to get their act together."
Hmmm. . . . I work in a Grand Rapids ghetto. I mostly cross my t's and dot my i's, but am occasionally careless in this regard. BUT I don't tell the world to get its act together. Unless I'm driving. So what does that make me? Am I Reformable?
Sunday, October 15, 2006
Sorting Out Religious Priorities
I'm indebted to Uncle Pike for pointing out this Class 1 example of how religion can create whole categories of priorities that have nothing whatsoever to do with the essentials of Christianity--it probably also helps if you know something about church life in Little Bit of Dutch Heaven, a.k.a., West Michigan.
In the 14 October, 2006, "Religion" section of the GR Press was a story about Vos Construction, a local company that just completed it's 150th church building project (a well-deserved "woo-hoo!" for Vos, everyone). Among the kudos for Vos Construction was this comment by a local church that began working on a budget for a new building and discovered--oh my!--they didn't have enough money for a steeple. Enter Vos Constuction.
Direct quote from the pastor: "They helped us get to the point where we could get rid of the nonessentials to allow us to put a steeple on the church."
There you have it--cut out all the non-essential crap, just make sure you've got a steeple, because nothing says authentic Christianity like a steeple. In fact, get two if possible.
I'm indebted to Uncle Pike for pointing out this Class 1 example of how religion can create whole categories of priorities that have nothing whatsoever to do with the essentials of Christianity--it probably also helps if you know something about church life in Little Bit of Dutch Heaven, a.k.a., West Michigan.
In the 14 October, 2006, "Religion" section of the GR Press was a story about Vos Construction, a local company that just completed it's 150th church building project (a well-deserved "woo-hoo!" for Vos, everyone). Among the kudos for Vos Construction was this comment by a local church that began working on a budget for a new building and discovered--oh my!--they didn't have enough money for a steeple. Enter Vos Constuction.
Direct quote from the pastor: "They helped us get to the point where we could get rid of the nonessentials to allow us to put a steeple on the church."
There you have it--cut out all the non-essential crap, just make sure you've got a steeple, because nothing says authentic Christianity like a steeple. In fact, get two if possible.
Monday, October 09, 2006
It Fakes a Village
My week in Rodelheim, Germany, had some of the feelings of stepping back into a Teutonic Mayberry RFD. It's divided north to south by the railroad and there is no road directly across the tracks for several blocks in the middle of town. You have to take the pedestrian tunnel from east to west and in reverse. It serves as the town square in a sense--people coming and going, a coffee and frankfurter stand next to the grocery on the west, a bakery and fruit stall on the east, and pubs and small take-away food shops scattered along the shopping area to the east.
Each morning dozens of people were making the brisk walk or bike ride to the train station. In the evening, folks were stopping at the markets to get a bag or two of groceries--never more than what can be carried home on foot. And from the terraces and balconies of the apartment buildings, clothing attempted to dry in the slanting autumn light. Learning the neighbor's preferences in undergarments would not be difficult nor would most other secrets, I suspect.
Of course, if one was troubled by such thoughts, he (or she) could take advantage of confession at the Catholic church two blocks east of the tracks, conveniently summoning the faithful at 6:15 on Saturday evening for the 6:30 service. I slipped into the last pew, a little embarrassed by the book bag of chocolate bars and a bargain Riesling I had picked up on my way to the apartment and then a little confused as to where to place my feet. The pews had severe wooden kneeling benches built into the pew ahead of me, and I had to decided to either bend at the knees and tuck my feet under or stretch over the kneeler, which looked too causal. I tried to achieve my most correct posture, go for the tuck under, and appear as if I belonged.
It would hardly have made a whit of difference if the service had been in Latin since it was in German, which sounded like all gutturals and z's in the stone-driven acoustics. What kept my interest was the participation of three lay women and two alter girls in the non-priestly parts of the service and the well-paced delivery of the homily by the tall, dark-featured priest who seemed to resemble more a European Cup soccer player than a padre. I wondered if this was now the norm in John Paul II Catholicism (yes, I know he's dead, but his influence will remain for years, if not decades).
Yet appearances to the contrary, it's not the homogenous, happy Mayberry of 1962. One evening I turned the corner coming from the train station to meet several Muslim women emerging from an apartment building. Evidently the weekly Koran study had just ended. Another night, I logged off the Internet cafe computer and then had to wait a few minutes while the young clerk finished up his early evening prayers and carefully folded his beautifully embroidered prayer rug, as if it were the most natural thing in the world--running the shop and keeping the faith--which to him it was.
What brought this into sharper contrast was an evening dinner conversation with a German publishing professional, who in response to my question about Turkish immigrants, began to relate his experience in another nearby town. "They don't want to be a part of German culture. They don't learn the language or pursue education. They don't gain job skills. If their children don't learn in school, then it's the schools fault." And so on. For fifteen minutes. I had obviously struck a nerve, one very close to the surface at that.
Behind my German acquaintance's stark assessment was something we hear echoed in our own immigration debate: fear. Fear of those not like us, fear and resentment of the economic demands of the poor minority, fear that the culture that is "us" will be lost by the inclusion of the "them." And for the "them" I imagine it is in many ways the same: fear that their religion and culture will be diluted and corrupted, fear for their own economic future, resentment of the tantalizing material culture surrounding yet eluding them.
And so they walk past each other, not really talking, just carrying out the routines of commerce and inhabiting the same space but not the same place. And it fakes a village.
My week in Rodelheim, Germany, had some of the feelings of stepping back into a Teutonic Mayberry RFD. It's divided north to south by the railroad and there is no road directly across the tracks for several blocks in the middle of town. You have to take the pedestrian tunnel from east to west and in reverse. It serves as the town square in a sense--people coming and going, a coffee and frankfurter stand next to the grocery on the west, a bakery and fruit stall on the east, and pubs and small take-away food shops scattered along the shopping area to the east.
Each morning dozens of people were making the brisk walk or bike ride to the train station. In the evening, folks were stopping at the markets to get a bag or two of groceries--never more than what can be carried home on foot. And from the terraces and balconies of the apartment buildings, clothing attempted to dry in the slanting autumn light. Learning the neighbor's preferences in undergarments would not be difficult nor would most other secrets, I suspect.
Of course, if one was troubled by such thoughts, he (or she) could take advantage of confession at the Catholic church two blocks east of the tracks, conveniently summoning the faithful at 6:15 on Saturday evening for the 6:30 service. I slipped into the last pew, a little embarrassed by the book bag of chocolate bars and a bargain Riesling I had picked up on my way to the apartment and then a little confused as to where to place my feet. The pews had severe wooden kneeling benches built into the pew ahead of me, and I had to decided to either bend at the knees and tuck my feet under or stretch over the kneeler, which looked too causal. I tried to achieve my most correct posture, go for the tuck under, and appear as if I belonged.
It would hardly have made a whit of difference if the service had been in Latin since it was in German, which sounded like all gutturals and z's in the stone-driven acoustics. What kept my interest was the participation of three lay women and two alter girls in the non-priestly parts of the service and the well-paced delivery of the homily by the tall, dark-featured priest who seemed to resemble more a European Cup soccer player than a padre. I wondered if this was now the norm in John Paul II Catholicism (yes, I know he's dead, but his influence will remain for years, if not decades).
Yet appearances to the contrary, it's not the homogenous, happy Mayberry of 1962. One evening I turned the corner coming from the train station to meet several Muslim women emerging from an apartment building. Evidently the weekly Koran study had just ended. Another night, I logged off the Internet cafe computer and then had to wait a few minutes while the young clerk finished up his early evening prayers and carefully folded his beautifully embroidered prayer rug, as if it were the most natural thing in the world--running the shop and keeping the faith--which to him it was.
What brought this into sharper contrast was an evening dinner conversation with a German publishing professional, who in response to my question about Turkish immigrants, began to relate his experience in another nearby town. "They don't want to be a part of German culture. They don't learn the language or pursue education. They don't gain job skills. If their children don't learn in school, then it's the schools fault." And so on. For fifteen minutes. I had obviously struck a nerve, one very close to the surface at that.
Behind my German acquaintance's stark assessment was something we hear echoed in our own immigration debate: fear. Fear of those not like us, fear and resentment of the economic demands of the poor minority, fear that the culture that is "us" will be lost by the inclusion of the "them." And for the "them" I imagine it is in many ways the same: fear that their religion and culture will be diluted and corrupted, fear for their own economic future, resentment of the tantalizing material culture surrounding yet eluding them.
And so they walk past each other, not really talking, just carrying out the routines of commerce and inhabiting the same space but not the same place. And it fakes a village.
Why German Kids Can Push That Log
Breakfast, as served by Frau Hanzlicek each morning in Frankfurt:
1. A plate of sliced meats, including at least one of the following: ham, salami, summer sausage, ham sausage with fat chunks, soft squishy sausage, and, twice in five days, sliced turkey meat.
2. A plate of cheese, with at least three, sometimes four varieties, including the soft squishy cheese.
3. A basket of bread including a hard roll, two pieces of wheat bread, and a piece of hard, granular bread made from wood scraps.
4. A container of yogurt, also soft and very squishy.
5. Orange juice from a can, judging by the taste.
6. Coffee.
7. A piece of fruit such as a nectarine or peach, but never soft nor squishy.
Breakfast, as served by Frau Hanzlicek each morning in Frankfurt:
1. A plate of sliced meats, including at least one of the following: ham, salami, summer sausage, ham sausage with fat chunks, soft squishy sausage, and, twice in five days, sliced turkey meat.
2. A plate of cheese, with at least three, sometimes four varieties, including the soft squishy cheese.
3. A basket of bread including a hard roll, two pieces of wheat bread, and a piece of hard, granular bread made from wood scraps.
4. A container of yogurt, also soft and very squishy.
5. Orange juice from a can, judging by the taste.
6. Coffee.
7. A piece of fruit such as a nectarine or peach, but never soft nor squishy.
Saturday, October 07, 2006
Why German Preschoolers Will Beat Our Preschoolers
On my walk to the train station in Rodelheim, I pass a German preschool and its playground. Surprisingly, there are few typical playground fixtures, such as swings or slides. Instead, there is an obstacle course with short walls, pipes, etc. And (this caught my attention), a log. Yes, a large diameter, 15-foot log. Maybe it's a team-building exercise--"Come, mein children, we must move the log over to there!"
So, ja, sadly, our preschoolers are doomed in the new global market.
On my walk to the train station in Rodelheim, I pass a German preschool and its playground. Surprisingly, there are few typical playground fixtures, such as swings or slides. Instead, there is an obstacle course with short walls, pipes, etc. And (this caught my attention), a log. Yes, a large diameter, 15-foot log. Maybe it's a team-building exercise--"Come, mein children, we must move the log over to there!"
So, ja, sadly, our preschoolers are doomed in the new global market.
Saturday, September 30, 2006
Friday, September 29, 2006
Why I Like Sticky Notes for Bookmarks
Sticky notes make the best bookmarks. They are cheap, recyclable, and stay in place week after week like a well-trained Labrador.
Things, which in my experience, do not work as well:
1. Bits of paper, torn from a newspaper, in-flight magazines, napkins, or court summons—they slip out, blow out, or drop out, thus failing the reliability factor. Or you lose them on purpose.
2. Paperclips—there’s always a sharp tip that catches and tears the page, proving that “clip” is thus a double entendre.
3. Boarding pass—see 1. above, as well as creating the embarrassment of looking for your boarding pass while it’s stuck into a book tucked under your armpit.
4. Other books—the lack of effectiveness is directly proportional to the thickness of book two, known as the “Rotterdam Theorem” (named after Erasmus, it’s first formulator or the constriction of two English words when you’ve lost your place— again).
5. Attorney’s statement—an annoying reminder of things best forgotten.
6. Small hand tools—doubly annoying when hanging pictures or doing home wiring.
7. Any strip of cardboard with a string attached—just furthering someone’s commercial agenda at your expense.
8. All surgical tools—obviously.
Sticky notes make the best bookmarks. They are cheap, recyclable, and stay in place week after week like a well-trained Labrador.
Things, which in my experience, do not work as well:
1. Bits of paper, torn from a newspaper, in-flight magazines, napkins, or court summons—they slip out, blow out, or drop out, thus failing the reliability factor. Or you lose them on purpose.
2. Paperclips—there’s always a sharp tip that catches and tears the page, proving that “clip” is thus a double entendre.
3. Boarding pass—see 1. above, as well as creating the embarrassment of looking for your boarding pass while it’s stuck into a book tucked under your armpit.
4. Other books—the lack of effectiveness is directly proportional to the thickness of book two, known as the “Rotterdam Theorem” (named after Erasmus, it’s first formulator or the constriction of two English words when you’ve lost your place— again).
5. Attorney’s statement—an annoying reminder of things best forgotten.
6. Small hand tools—doubly annoying when hanging pictures or doing home wiring.
7. Any strip of cardboard with a string attached—just furthering someone’s commercial agenda at your expense.
8. All surgical tools—obviously.
Thursday, September 28, 2006
Tuesday, September 26, 2006
Mr. President's Neighborhood
A semi-regular educational program designed to wean viewers from naive optimism and nascent jingoism.
Episode 1: Mr. P Explains Why Iraq Is Not Another Vietnam
http://mm.dfilm.com/mm2s/mm_route.php?id=3041675
Episode 2: Mr. P Examines an Idiom and Other Big Words
http://mm.dfilm.com/mm2s/mm_route.php?id=3042276
A semi-regular educational program designed to wean viewers from naive optimism and nascent jingoism.
Episode 1: Mr. P Explains Why Iraq Is Not Another Vietnam
http://mm.dfilm.com/mm2s/mm_route.php?id=3041675
Episode 2: Mr. P Examines an Idiom and Other Big Words
http://mm.dfilm.com/mm2s/mm_route.php?id=3042276
Sunday, September 24, 2006
Hope for Living
A serial drama based on the foibles and frustrations of love and friendships.
Disclaimer: All characters depicted in Hope for Living are fictional creations and any resemblance to persons living, dead, living but appearing dead, or actually dead but appearing to be alive, are completely coincidental. Hope for Living features exaggeration; entendre in single, double, or other multiple forms; humor--intentional, unintentional, or failed; and life’s absurdities, mercilessly compressed into three segments. These qualities are to be expected and celebrated. As a reflection of reality, it is not real and more than real. As a work of fiction, it represents no one and everyone.
Viewers, whose early, unchecked tendencies toward perfectionism were imprinted upon spelling and grammar by overly rigid fourth-grade teachers, may feel squeamish or be outraged. These viewers are advised to read/watch other blogs.
Further Disclaimer: No actual bears were educated in the production of this program.
Paste the URL into your browser address bar if necessary or just darn curious.
Episode 1: Depressed Man Discovers That Bears Love All Things http://mm.dfilm.com/mm2s/mm_route.php?id=3041039
(with rare guest appearance by J$Blogger)
Episode 2: Depressed Man Discovers the Honey Do’s and Don’ts
http://mm.dfilm.com/mm2s/mm_route.php?id=2839606
Episode 3: Depressed Man Discovers Why You Snooze, You Lose
http://mm.dfilm.com/mm2s/mm_route.php?id=2865594
Episode 4: Depressed Man Discovers Why There’s Always a Catch
http://mm.dfilm.com/mm2s/mm_route.php?id=2865570
Episode 5: Depressed Man Discovers Why You Can’t Have Your Cake
http://mm.dfilm.com/mm2s/mm_route.php?id=2851224
Episode 6: Depressed Man Discovers the Importance of Vowel Movement
http://mm.dfilm.com/mm2s/mm_route.php?id=2844580
Episode 7: Depressed Man Discovers Choice Is Overrated
http://mm.dfilm.com/mm2s/mm_route.php?id=2843724
Episode 8: Depressed Man Discovers Why Silence Is Unheard of
http://mm.dfilm.com/mm2s/mm_route.php?id=2842435
Episode 9: Depressed Man Discovers Why Ring Tones Are So Annoying
http://mm.dfilm.com/mm2s/mm_route.php?id=2842422
Episode 10: Depressed Man Discovers Why You Take It with a Grain of Salt
http://mm.dfilm.com/mm2s/mm_route.php?id=3041045
Episode 11: Depressed Man Discovers Why Ants Make You Say “Uncle.”
http://mm.dfilm.com/mm2s/mm_route.php?id=2842234
Episode 12: Depressed Man Discovers Why You Can’t Shoo Flies from the Pie
http://mm.dfilm.com/mm2s/mm_route.php?id=2840163
Episode 13: Depressed Man Discovers That Truth Is Stronger Than Diction
http://mm.dfilm.com/mm2s/mm_route.php?id=3020554
A serial drama based on the foibles and frustrations of love and friendships.
Disclaimer: All characters depicted in Hope for Living are fictional creations and any resemblance to persons living, dead, living but appearing dead, or actually dead but appearing to be alive, are completely coincidental. Hope for Living features exaggeration; entendre in single, double, or other multiple forms; humor--intentional, unintentional, or failed; and life’s absurdities, mercilessly compressed into three segments. These qualities are to be expected and celebrated. As a reflection of reality, it is not real and more than real. As a work of fiction, it represents no one and everyone.
Viewers, whose early, unchecked tendencies toward perfectionism were imprinted upon spelling and grammar by overly rigid fourth-grade teachers, may feel squeamish or be outraged. These viewers are advised to read/watch other blogs.
Further Disclaimer: No actual bears were educated in the production of this program.
Paste the URL into your browser address bar if necessary or just darn curious.
Episode 1: Depressed Man Discovers That Bears Love All Things http://mm.dfilm.com/mm2s/mm_route.php?id=3041039
(with rare guest appearance by J$Blogger)
Episode 2: Depressed Man Discovers the Honey Do’s and Don’ts
http://mm.dfilm.com/mm2s/mm_route.php?id=2839606
Episode 3: Depressed Man Discovers Why You Snooze, You Lose
http://mm.dfilm.com/mm2s/mm_route.php?id=2865594
Episode 4: Depressed Man Discovers Why There’s Always a Catch
http://mm.dfilm.com/mm2s/mm_route.php?id=2865570
Episode 5: Depressed Man Discovers Why You Can’t Have Your Cake
http://mm.dfilm.com/mm2s/mm_route.php?id=2851224
Episode 6: Depressed Man Discovers the Importance of Vowel Movement
http://mm.dfilm.com/mm2s/mm_route.php?id=2844580
Episode 7: Depressed Man Discovers Choice Is Overrated
http://mm.dfilm.com/mm2s/mm_route.php?id=2843724
Episode 8: Depressed Man Discovers Why Silence Is Unheard of
http://mm.dfilm.com/mm2s/mm_route.php?id=2842435
Episode 9: Depressed Man Discovers Why Ring Tones Are So Annoying
http://mm.dfilm.com/mm2s/mm_route.php?id=2842422
Episode 10: Depressed Man Discovers Why You Take It with a Grain of Salt
http://mm.dfilm.com/mm2s/mm_route.php?id=3041045
Episode 11: Depressed Man Discovers Why Ants Make You Say “Uncle.”
http://mm.dfilm.com/mm2s/mm_route.php?id=2842234
Episode 12: Depressed Man Discovers Why You Can’t Shoo Flies from the Pie
http://mm.dfilm.com/mm2s/mm_route.php?id=2840163
Episode 13: Depressed Man Discovers That Truth Is Stronger Than Diction
http://mm.dfilm.com/mm2s/mm_route.php?id=3020554
Tuesday, September 19, 2006
Update on Sailor Boy. . . second weekend of September I visited SB in Seattle. Flying out late Thursday, I arrived at the airport at 1:30 a.m. Friday EST and took the "short" $24 cab ride to the Howard Johnson's about 8 miles from the airport. A very polite middle-aged, Middle Eastern man--Pakistani perhaps--checked me in at 2:00 a.m. body time and directed me to my room. This was a circa 1958 Howard Johnsons where the rooms opened onto the parking lot for the front rooms and the backside rooms onto a chain link fence. The room had been updated--about 1980--but it was clean and with only 12 channels on the TV and me dog tired, it was time to sleep.
Next morning I got breakfast at Denny's across the highway--does every Denny's use the same grease in their hashbrowns for the Grand Slam Breakfast? Back at the hotel, I got the call that SB was on his way, so I proceeded to check out . . . and was serviced by the same polite, m-a, m-e gentleman who must work 24/7. He beamed proudly at my positive response to the question, "And how do you like our nice hotel?"
SB made the hour-long drive in his elderly white Toyota Camry and we began the trek back around Puget Sound to Sub Base Bremerton. Along the way he pointed out the sites of interest, mainly the obvious reasons that Washington is called "The Pine State." Crossing a high bridge over the tail end of the Sound, I got a look at some beautiful scenery and several houses on bluffs overlooking the Sound that most go for $1M and up. In case anyone needs to relocate, check them out.
Highlights of Friday were a tour of his housing area on the base which is about 15-20 minutes from the boat. SB has a room about the size of your typical college dorm room with similar furniture. He shares a bath with another sailor in the next room. Just down the street are all the necessities: Navy Exchange for tax-free goodies, mess hall, theater, fast food, grocery, etc. Not that SB seems to spend much time there since he's working most of the time.
After a short nap for both of us, we got some grub and headed back down the Sound to Bremerton and the Navy Base/Ship Yard. Parking on top of the parking garage, we got a great view of two aircraft carriers that were in port, adding 10,000 sailors to the local population and turning parking into a scare commodity on work days. Since SB was bringing a civilian onto the base, we had to have a Navy van from the boat pick us up and take us through the gate.
Given the fact that we were entering an area with access to nuclear aircraft carriers and submarines, the security didn't seem all that rigid, but then I wasn't going to test it. The guard didn't notice that my driver's license looks like a crazed Melungeon. Once at the pier, we walked across the gangway to the stern of the USGN 726 (the Ohio, moored, somewhat ironically, next to the Michigan). Here's where I entered a personal "dream-come-true" zone for the next two hours. Almost 600 ft. long with 24 missle tubes and a 30 ft. sail with massive planes on either side (that tall thing sticking up out of the sub with wings on it), we made our way forward and down a ladder through a hatch.
How can I begin to describe such an incredibly complex array of massive steel hulls, plumbing, electronics, computers, pumps, and weapon systems--all designed to sink hundreds of feet underwater on purpose. Forget the movies. Everything is much smaller, tighter, compact, cramped, head-thumping and shin-bumping than I had imagined. The stainless steel ladders between the four decks are straight up and down for the most part. The water-tight compartment hatchs are about 3.5 ft. in diameter and required a swing low, sweet chariot posture to get through. And everywhere there are pipes, valves, gauges, equipment, duty stations. There's a huge, 12 cylinder diesel that runs with a snorkel at periscope depth, a giant compressor, huge pumps and valves--everything depends on air and water getting moved to the right place at the right time. With pipes holding air at 4000 pounds per square inch and outside hull pressures way beyond that, this is very serious business. And it's mostly done by kids being trained and supervised by the old salts.
Basically we were allowed everywhere except the radio room off the main control room and the reactor room, which were off-limits (that was ok with me, although no one seemed to glow in the dark). SB's work area was a narrow walk-in with three computer stations, shelves and files, and was situated close to the captain's and officers' area and the control room. As SB noted humbly, yeomen make everything happen on a boat because everything has to be documented and it has to go through them. And the yeomen make it happen by knowing how to get it done and who to know to get it done and forgot about how the Navy says it's supposed to get done.
A few other boat highlights: looking up a 40 ft. missle tube, now converted into a four-level/chamber interlock to launch SEAL teams and a mini sub off the deck underwater; the torpedo room and tubes (no weapons on board but still impressive); looking up the sail where control equipment and a machine gun have to be hauled up by ropes to the top of the sail so the sub can be guided on the surface--it's one long, long climb up a straight ladder (this is where SB got caught in a pressure current when someone opened the hatch too soon and floated him off the ladder); the crew berths that were stacked three high and some were just an opening in the wall where you crawl in and try to remember not to sit up since there's no head room anyway and you just climbed in after another guy climbed out most likely.
The Ohio is still undergoing the final phase of a refit and the boat was busy 24 hrs. a day with civilian contractors installing equipment, so we were constantly moving out of someone's way. Looking at the huge warehouses and machine shops on the pier to maintain the boats, it's easy to see why our Defense budget is what it is, even minus the $200 hammers and $900 toilet seats.
On Saturday we did some shopping, rode the car ferry to Seattle and toured the city. It's an interesting collection of post-60s social detritus and hip, loco java Northwest affluency. Stadiums for basketball, football, baseball; the oddly UFOish space needle; a ratio of one coffee shop for every ten residents; the gorgeous homes high enough to overlook the bay and the less than beautiful parts and people; the harbor with it's busy ferries plying the waters and all the messy industrial port stuff thankfully down in lowly Tacoma; Mt. Rainier and Cascades to the east and the Olympic range to the west--it's one beautiful piece of manifest destiny and social contradiction--but isn't that America?
Next morning I got breakfast at Denny's across the highway--does every Denny's use the same grease in their hashbrowns for the Grand Slam Breakfast? Back at the hotel, I got the call that SB was on his way, so I proceeded to check out . . . and was serviced by the same polite, m-a, m-e gentleman who must work 24/7. He beamed proudly at my positive response to the question, "And how do you like our nice hotel?"
SB made the hour-long drive in his elderly white Toyota Camry and we began the trek back around Puget Sound to Sub Base Bremerton. Along the way he pointed out the sites of interest, mainly the obvious reasons that Washington is called "The Pine State." Crossing a high bridge over the tail end of the Sound, I got a look at some beautiful scenery and several houses on bluffs overlooking the Sound that most go for $1M and up. In case anyone needs to relocate, check them out.
Highlights of Friday were a tour of his housing area on the base which is about 15-20 minutes from the boat. SB has a room about the size of your typical college dorm room with similar furniture. He shares a bath with another sailor in the next room. Just down the street are all the necessities: Navy Exchange for tax-free goodies, mess hall, theater, fast food, grocery, etc. Not that SB seems to spend much time there since he's working most of the time.
After a short nap for both of us, we got some grub and headed back down the Sound to Bremerton and the Navy Base/Ship Yard. Parking on top of the parking garage, we got a great view of two aircraft carriers that were in port, adding 10,000 sailors to the local population and turning parking into a scare commodity on work days. Since SB was bringing a civilian onto the base, we had to have a Navy van from the boat pick us up and take us through the gate.
Given the fact that we were entering an area with access to nuclear aircraft carriers and submarines, the security didn't seem all that rigid, but then I wasn't going to test it. The guard didn't notice that my driver's license looks like a crazed Melungeon. Once at the pier, we walked across the gangway to the stern of the USGN 726 (the Ohio, moored, somewhat ironically, next to the Michigan). Here's where I entered a personal "dream-come-true" zone for the next two hours. Almost 600 ft. long with 24 missle tubes and a 30 ft. sail with massive planes on either side (that tall thing sticking up out of the sub with wings on it), we made our way forward and down a ladder through a hatch.
How can I begin to describe such an incredibly complex array of massive steel hulls, plumbing, electronics, computers, pumps, and weapon systems--all designed to sink hundreds of feet underwater on purpose. Forget the movies. Everything is much smaller, tighter, compact, cramped, head-thumping and shin-bumping than I had imagined. The stainless steel ladders between the four decks are straight up and down for the most part. The water-tight compartment hatchs are about 3.5 ft. in diameter and required a swing low, sweet chariot posture to get through. And everywhere there are pipes, valves, gauges, equipment, duty stations. There's a huge, 12 cylinder diesel that runs with a snorkel at periscope depth, a giant compressor, huge pumps and valves--everything depends on air and water getting moved to the right place at the right time. With pipes holding air at 4000 pounds per square inch and outside hull pressures way beyond that, this is very serious business. And it's mostly done by kids being trained and supervised by the old salts.
Basically we were allowed everywhere except the radio room off the main control room and the reactor room, which were off-limits (that was ok with me, although no one seemed to glow in the dark). SB's work area was a narrow walk-in with three computer stations, shelves and files, and was situated close to the captain's and officers' area and the control room. As SB noted humbly, yeomen make everything happen on a boat because everything has to be documented and it has to go through them. And the yeomen make it happen by knowing how to get it done and who to know to get it done and forgot about how the Navy says it's supposed to get done.
A few other boat highlights: looking up a 40 ft. missle tube, now converted into a four-level/chamber interlock to launch SEAL teams and a mini sub off the deck underwater; the torpedo room and tubes (no weapons on board but still impressive); looking up the sail where control equipment and a machine gun have to be hauled up by ropes to the top of the sail so the sub can be guided on the surface--it's one long, long climb up a straight ladder (this is where SB got caught in a pressure current when someone opened the hatch too soon and floated him off the ladder); the crew berths that were stacked three high and some were just an opening in the wall where you crawl in and try to remember not to sit up since there's no head room anyway and you just climbed in after another guy climbed out most likely.
The Ohio is still undergoing the final phase of a refit and the boat was busy 24 hrs. a day with civilian contractors installing equipment, so we were constantly moving out of someone's way. Looking at the huge warehouses and machine shops on the pier to maintain the boats, it's easy to see why our Defense budget is what it is, even minus the $200 hammers and $900 toilet seats.
On Saturday we did some shopping, rode the car ferry to Seattle and toured the city. It's an interesting collection of post-60s social detritus and hip, loco java Northwest affluency. Stadiums for basketball, football, baseball; the oddly UFOish space needle; a ratio of one coffee shop for every ten residents; the gorgeous homes high enough to overlook the bay and the less than beautiful parts and people; the harbor with it's busy ferries plying the waters and all the messy industrial port stuff thankfully down in lowly Tacoma; Mt. Rainier and Cascades to the east and the Olympic range to the west--it's one beautiful piece of manifest destiny and social contradiction--but isn't that America?
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