Growth? I dunno. . .

I've been thinking about growth.
My wife worked for JCPenney for 33 years. Over most of those years the company wanted her department to exceed last year's sales by x%. This never made sense to me. I mean, think about it.

 If your company is to
--maintain its real estate and infrastructure
--pay its employees a wage that will motivate them and keep them working for you
--provide a benefit package that will aid in retaining employees
--provide the best service to customers to keep them coming back
--maintain a broad product line to keep customers interested

Then doesn't it make sense that there is a limit to how much you can increase? You can strive to increase your market share, but that will require you spend more on advertising, thus cutting into potential growth. You can reduce what you pay your employees, but that will likely cause you to lose your best employees thus reducing sales and service. You can reduce benefits but that causes the same problem.

So, doesn't it make sense that if you made a reasonable profit last year and were able to keep the doors opened, the infrastructure maintained, the employees paid and happy and had enough left over to keep the stockholders paid then whatever percentage of profit you made last year should be your goal for this year?
I thought so.

How about if we expand this thinking to our economy. Maybe if we hadn't been trying to maintain growth, that is increase our national profits over the year before we wouldn't have taken a dive in '08. Yeah, yeah, I know, it was all the bankers and such that screwed us, but if we could just change our perspective--sort of metaphorically shift from a corporate agriculture mindset to a horticultural one. Let's be prosperous but instead of constant growth which by its nature unsustainable, go for stability which is.

I dunno, I only got a B+'s in Econ 101 and 102 so maybe I'm way off here. Seems to me though there was something about prices go up until there's a glut on the market then they plummet. Seems to me there was also a formula I forget for maintaining prices and thus sales at a constant rate.

But again that was a long time ago and I'm not a math guy so I could be wrong.

Maybe one of you math guys could work this out and we could tell someone in Washington about it. If you do let me know and I'll make sure you get the right Washington 'cause while I'm not a math guy, I am a geography guy and I know where stuff is and how to get there.

Things That Go "Woof" and "Scritch, Scritch" in the Night

This morning at around 4:30 or so Boomer the Cow Dog started barking and there were noises coming from the front porch. 

So I gathered up the artillery, went downstairs and grabbed the million candlepower spotlight and went out on the porch. 

There on the end of the porch was, totally oblivious of me, my light and pistol, a skunk. The light bothered the skunk not in the least as it chowed down on a wasp's nest. It was also apparently oblivious to wasp stings. Thus proving that the crazy nasty-ass honey badger ain't the only one that don't give a shit.

                           

Here's the Problem.

If you believe the following;
Don’t spend money you haven’t got.
Don’t make more government than you need.

And you don’t believe:

Fundamentalist Christianity should be the state religion.

Abortion should be universally illegal.

OR:

You believe;
People have a right to good health.

There should be a route to citizenship for illegal aliens.

And you don’t believe:

Abortion should be universally legalized.

The stimulus package was well conceived.

Then you have no ‘major’ party.

You see, both the Republican and Democratic parties are so big they must encompass approaches to every single problem extant in the United States. Therefore if you don’t agree with some or maybe many of their stances, if you support them, you have to buy into things you don’t want or agree with.

Here’s the solution.

I don’t know about you, but I find I can only get worked up about a couple of issues at a time. Right now I’m big on fixing the tax system (fairtax.org) and the health care system. So, how about a party that does that. Just those two things maybe. Say you’re big on saving the planet. Cool. Green party that focuses on environmental issues. 

Then maybe several other parties. Each promoting its own particular issues. Of course, by themselves they’ll never have enough votes to get anything passed. So what they do is make temporary coalitions. So my health and taxes party gets together with the green party and says, “We’ll help you pass your save the rainforest legislation if you’ll help ups pass our fairtax legislation.” This goes on with all the parties, coalitions changing as issues come and go. 

This is how it’s been in the UK, Europe and hundreds of countries in the world that are actually getting needed legislation passed because the system fosters cooperation and compromise rather than competition, obstructionism and backstabbing.

Think about it.

Then vote for the non-major party, that is independent, candidate of your choice. 

Fixing Stuff With Zealotry

Throughout history we have been fortunate to have in the ranks of others, often in opposition to us whoever we may be, heirs to the original Zealots. Oh, I know you’re thinking that Zealots are freedom fighters and heroes and all that. But often they don’t do the folks they’re trying to help much good. But in the spirit of “it’s an ill wind that blows no one good,” SOMEBODY benefits, usually the guy the zealots were zealoting against.  In true zealot fashion, sometimes these groups even pre-date the original, led by Judas of Galilee or Gamala from C.E. 66-70.

Now if you were an average citizen of Roman Jerusalem in 66 C.E, what? 
What’s that? 
Yes, C.E. which signifies “common era” is the same as A.D. which stands for Anno Domini which in turn translates from Latin to “year of our lord,” more or less. Current practice dictates the use of C.E. since a lot of people do not agree that Jesus of Nazareth was God. On the other hand, we were all here for the ‘common era,’ so there’s not a lot you can argue with there. Or maybe you can, I don’t know and it’s not why we’re here so back off.

But I digress. So, there you were in Jerusalem, goin’ bout your business tanning your hides or boiling your dyes or slaughtering your sheep or whatever you do, then going and making burnt sacrifices at the Temple on the Sabbath and so forth. Then the Zealots jumped up and decided the Romans needed to go. So this Judas guy—seems to be an unfortunate name in many spheres, eh?—has a revolution. Seems successful at first, Jude and his bros take Jerusalem and hold it for like four years!! Whoo-hoo!!

Did I mention the Zealots were revolting? Against the Romans? The friggin’ Romans?! So the Romans destroyed the Temple, plundered it, raped, killed and burned in reprisal, and finished off the Zealots at Masada. What happened to you, peaceful middle class citizen of Jerusalem, you ask? I just told you, keep up willya? You got raped, murdered, burned out and your religion pretty well stomped. 

The Zealots are also credited by some with the invention of terrorism, political assassination, murder of ‘collaborators’ and kidnapping for political leverage. They also destroyed the food supply of the besieged city so the inhabitants would rise up against the Romans. The Talmud describes them as boorish, wild, ruffians and condemns them for their aggression, refusal to compromise, refusal to work with the Rabbis seeking peace and causing the destruction of Jerusalem and the subsequent crushing Roman hold on Judea. Good job lads—if you’re a Roman anyway.

So then who are their heirs? For the purposes of this admittedly slanted article let’s sketch out a definition.

zealot. n. A person or group that forms together under the aegis of the “One True Faith,” whether they say so or not that tries through various methods to install their particular beliefs on any organization be it political, cultural or religious in which they form a minority.

Often marked by a failure to understand the level and depth of commiseration in the larger group to which they belong.

Also often marked by an overestimation of their strength and abilities, thus causing their efforts to end in failure and cause the situations they hope to improve to degrade in actuality. Or, if not ending in failure then leading to the subornation of their original goals and the subjugation of their group or country.

How’s that? Now comes the bit you’ve been waiting for—the list!

Famous Zealots through history:

·  The French Revolution. Creators and executors (pun intended) of the “Reign of Terror,” which lead to the French Empire under Napoleon and the temporary conquest of most of Europe.

·  The Russian Revolution which promised to free the people with the concept of “from each according to their abilities, to each according to their need,” and ended up just being Tsarist Russia in more boring uniforms.

·  Jim Jones and the People’s Temple. Don’t drink the Kool-aid.

·  Heaven’s Gate. Oops, the Mother Ship wasn’t hiding in that comet tail after all.

·  The Black Hand and Gavrilo Princip, Serbian terrorist(s) that Killed Archduke Ferdinand, started WWI which not only wrecked things for Serbia but the whole of Europe and the due to the zealotry of the French when  the war ended, caused WWII which wrecked everything for people all over the world. Good job.

·  The National Socialist Worker’s Party in Germany. They started out pretty well but were suborned by a failed painter and architect from Austria. Millions died.

“Ok, ok,” you say, “we get it, lots of zealots in history. So what’s that got to do with the price of eggs in Jerusalem?” Hm, says I. Didn’t you pay any attention to the intro? Never mind. So here’s the deal. 

There are a lot of zealots in the United States these days. There are groups that want to change everything. The Tea Party comes to mind along with those folks on the other side that want a Sweden-style welfare state. There are a lot of Christians that want to make America “a Christian country again,” never minding the fact that it never has been or was intended to be a Christian Country. There are people that want to change bits and pieces, the right to choice and right to life folks, the anti-gun groups and the pro-gun groups. The greenies and the blackies as I call the drill-it-all-now folks. For practically any issue, you can find groups on either side screaming their lungs out about it.

Well, it’s not all bad. You see, history has shown that the best path is the core of what the Pilgrims of the Massachusetts Bay Colony believed. No, not fundamentalist Christianity! Their core belief or one of them at least was this:

“All things in moderation.”

The key to the whole thing is polite discourse and compromise ending in consensual agreements somewhere in the middle of the argument. Now I know that those groups out there on the ends of the bell curve are going to scream, “THERE CAN BE NO COMPROMISE FOR OURS IS THE ONE TRUE WAY!!!”

This is an example of the political concept, “the ends pull the middle” so, you see we kinda need those guys out there so we can have the tug-o-war that shows all the various concepts and hopefully solutions and then, pay attention now ‘cause here’s the point of the whole diatribe, we get compromise and solutions by all those people in the middle of the bell curve. That would be—I love this term—the Silent Majority. Like you and me, I hope. WE have to come together and fix all this crap. WE have to get these idiots to quit yelling at each other.

How do we do that? Honest to God, Thor, Aphrodite or whoever you worship or don’t, I think the only way is going to be another party. I was thinking that the Progressive Party had a nice ring to it as well as a pretty appropriate namesake, but that’s been co-opted. So how about this: The Moderate Party. 

If the charts and curves are correct people that have moderate political beliefs form about seventy percent of the nation. Know what that means? If they all join our new party, theoretically, we’ll have majorities in the house and the senate and a pretty good shot at the presidency as well. The best part? We still have all those screaming zealots on either side of the isle pointing out the problems and potential solutions! Brilliant, ain’t it?

Triggers and Tolerances

Roy Rogers used to have a horse named “Trigger.” Once I became aware enough I wondered at that, I mean, after all, a trigger is something that starts things. Triggers set things in motion. It would seem that the horse is the motion, not the cause, eh? But that’s not what I was thinking about today.

Many years ago when I was trapped in a declining wage spiral with every job I got, I became a housewife. It was costing more to keep the kids in daycare than I was making so I just stayed home. I made a deal with my wife over this after the first couple weeks. She became critical of the way I did things. She had seven different ‘loads’ of laundry and disliked my simpler four—light, dark, red and impossible (those things of hers I would not wash due to the consequences of destruction thereof). She did not approve of using the shop vac, a bucket of soapy water and a brush on a broom handle for spot removal on carpets. She did not think Pledge sprayed on dustrags and used as skates for the kids constituted polishing wood floors. She did not feel that leaving the vacuum plugged in and standing in the middle of the entryway encouraged the kids to vacuum floors. I however, being enlightened, embraced all these things. We agreed that as long as she was satisfied with the results, I could do things my own way. This agreement served well over many years.

While all this is doubtless of great interest and somewhat germane, that’s not what I wanted to talk about either. While playing on the computer and watching “Two Fat Ladies” on the Cooking Channel, I ran out of coffee. So I creaked up to get another cup and my naked feet encountered an eclectic mixture of crumbs, gravel, dog hair, dead juniper gnats and God knows what else. So, what did I do? I got my coffee and sat back down of course. But that crunchy crap under my feet did trigger my grunge tolerance level. So mere days later I gave up on sitting in the great room calling the vacuum to come downstairs and operate on its own, went upstairs, got it and vacuumed. The great room. Not that much grunge elsewhere, you know?

Many years after I first became a housewife and after many yelling matches in which I inevitably came off second I realized that this was the problem. Much like pain tolerance inverted, men have much higher Dirt/Grunge/Filth tolerance than women. You would think that once I realized this, I would, in the interest of peace, harmony, the general good and possible sexual favors establish the exact point at which my wife’s D/G/F tolerance trigger was tripped. So one would think indeed, but you are overlooking a superior trigger present usually only in males: the laziness trigger. This trigger trips when inertia of laying about on the couch is greater than the rewards the perceived work is likely to generate. In other words, lazy always wins. 

Oh, and just in case you were wondering, I was not a househusband or Mr. Mom. I was a housewife—if I was to do the work, I would have the title.

Things That Go Bump.

It’s different in the city. There’s all that noise in the air. Every writer that ever wrote at one time or another mentioned “the hum of the city,” or some like metaphor. Once you’re used to it the white noise backdrop becomes a comfort. I’ve seen offered for sale white noise generators designed to aid the onset of sleep that reproduce the sounds of air conditioners, traffic and so forth. The hum of the city indeed, in such a context perhaps it does approach musicality, eh?

It’s different in the country as well. For all that soothing noise in the city there’s much to be said for the silence of the country. Of course, it’s only silence for the first wee bit you live out here. There’s the soughing of the breeze through the pines and junipers, in season there’s the crickets and frogs. With the dawn comes the birdsong that changes with the season, larks, martins, swallows of the summer, chickadees of the winter and with the addition of ducks and geese a happy mix of all in the spring and fall. Of an evening in the winter if you listen close you’ll hear owls talking in the trees behind the house. Then there are the ravens, crows and magpies croaking and screeching all year round oft times joined by their quieter jaybird cousins. Oh, there’s the occasional hum of traffic on the unpaved county road out front but it seems to fit with the rest. Sirens are rare enough to cause you to go look make sure it's not a neighbor in distress.

Of course that’s all outside. Once inside a well-insulated house--and yours had better be or you’ll either shiver all winter or propel the children of propane or electric company execs through college--things get a lot quieter. Well, in winter that is. With a lack of air conditioning up here in the altitude—Denver may brag about ‘Mile High’ and all that but they’re all flatlanders to us here at a mile and a half and up—your windows are open all summer letting in the gentler hum of the country. 

Still and all when things quiet for the night, just the frogs and crickets providing a soft ambiance, all those noises masked by the city creep into consciousness. Yes, stolen by the hum of the city, here in the country they still exist—Things That Go Bump in the Night.

It’s amazing how much noise there is when the refrigerator stops, the fans are off, the TV quiet. If you sit quietly, perhaps reading or just drifting, the sound is deafening. Clunk. Thump. Crash-tink-whump. Scritch-scritch-scritch. BANG. What the hell is making all that noise? 

After my wife died the kids, family and friends all went home. I sat in the living room all alone and listened not to the hum of the city but the symphony of an empty house. Some you could identify with practice—the dog scratching while in his crate, creating a whump-whump-whump noise with overtones of rattle-rattle-rattle. The soft scurry and scritch of mice and voles you understood. The romance and battles of the barn cats outside—terrifying when first heard but merely annoying once understood. The bump and hum of the refrigerator singing its measured song. All these things are accustomed, perceived, understood and ignored. Oh, you might put a mouse trap out now and again or throw something handy at a cat in a moment of pique, but by and large, like the hum of the city, you just don’t really hear it on a conscious level.

The other though. Sometimes there’s a bang as loud a slamming door out in the garage. So you go out there with a bit of trepidation, bear maybe? Probably not a mountain lion—they’re too solitary and people-phobic. Oh, shit, not a skunk I hope! You think, "how did they get in there?" All the windows are closed, the doors latched . . . thinking thusly out you go to find . . . nothing. There’s no animal foraging. Nothing seems moved; everything remains in its place. What the hell made that noise?

It’s not the only one. There’s bumps and bangs, thumps and thuds, crashes and creaks from upstairs if your down, downstairs if you’re up, elsewhere from where you are, all in the amazing talking house. What the hell is making that noise!

So then. Is this the genesis of the scary stories that we’ve heard? Ghouls, zombies, the sidhe, changelings, ghosts, nightwalkers, skinwalkers, banshees, vampires, werewolves-werebears and werewhatnots (Hm. Are there werechickens?), well, you get the idea. The human imagination that harnesses fire, invents the wheel, the lever, pickup trucks and ultralight jet-packs also invents all that scary stuff. Sorta gives credence to the eastern concept of yin and yang. Yep, it’s like, “Come to the Dark Side, Luke, we have cookies.” Ok, maybe the cookies are a bit much and it should be, “. . . we have scary crap.”

Then too, there’s the Original Slick Willie’s take in Hamlet, “There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio, than are dreamt of in your philosophy.” I cannot remember if all these noises have been a part of this house since we came in August of 2000. Honestly I cannot. In addition I am not so jaded in my aging view to think that creation exists only in corporeal form. Even in the birthplace and converted habitats of that most logical of religions, Buddhism, are there legends of spirits unbound that wander the earth. I do suspect all that we think we know of spirits and their kin are, to again quote the Bard, “. . . a tale told by an idiot, full of sound and fury. Signifying nothing.”

Maybe one of the things investigators of the paranormal talk about is accurate. Maybe spirits do hang around where they died and try with little success--unless you believe in mediums--to communicate with us. Maybe the clunk, thump, crash-tink-whump, scritch-scritch-scritch and BANGs are someone trying to say, “Hey! How’s it going? I’m here!” My wife Beth maybe? I don’t know. But you know even if all the noises are just the odd creaks, groans and bumps of a twenty-four year old house, somehow that thought that it could be Beth makes them a little less scary. 

New And Improved My A$$

I’m going camping in a week or so. Been a while, over a year due to the unpleasantness a while back. So I was inventorying my camp gear and got to thinking about sleeping bags. This got me to thinking about “improving” products of course.

Many years ago I bought a Cabela’s “Adam and Eve” sleeping bag. This was a good item: It breaks into two single bags, one for warm weather and one for cooler. When the two bags are zipped together it forms a double bag. If you use a decent pad you can put the heavier side down for warm weather and the lighter side down for cold weather. The outer cover and inner liner are both of nylon. The only downside is the outer cover—if you’re not sleeping on the level you tend to slide to the low side of the tent. Not that big a deal but kind of annoying.  My wife and I used this bag for some thirty years to good effect all around.

Thirty years being thirty years, I thought maybe it was time for a new bag. So I got one. It’s kinda like a giant mummy bag. It has a nylon outer cover and a flannel liner. I know this sounds like a good idea, flannel liner’s got to be an improvement, right? All toasty warm and such? Uh, no. Problem is, when you get into this thing, unless you’re nekkie or wearing silk PJs (While camping? Really?) there are issues.

See, I like to sleep in undershorts and a long sleeve t-shirt when camping for several reasons. If I flail around a bit and my arms escape the confines of he bag, I don’t freeze. If I’m called upon to tend to natures needs or fight off a marauding raccoon or bear or something, I don’t have to fiddle around searching for something to wear. Don’t get me wrong, nekkie with a significant other in a sleeping bag is great fun, but at some point practicality must be served.

So. When you try to get into a flannel lined bag, you don’t slide in like on nylon. Oh, no. You have to grab the edge of the bag in death-grip, force your unwilling beyewtocks down into the bag, grunting and cussing. Finally once in and after your partner fights her way into the bag you settle down, toasty warm to a blissful night’s sleep. Oh, no. I toss and turn a bit. I’m side-sleeper and switch sides a few times during the night. This is not optional and I will be switching sides.

So first time I do this, I go to roll over. Nothing. The flannel has me trapped. Oh, no. I’m doin’ this! So I gather myself up, roll over with a mighty heave and flip my wife over the top of me onto the hard, hard ground with a whump. She is not well pleased. Well, I'm pretty sure that, "You &%$# idiot! What the ^%$& are you doing! Don't even think. . . " signifies displeasure though I'm not sure what my parent's marital status had to do with anything. The night continues until un-rested and bedraggled we fight our way out of the sleeping bag prison to glare at one another over coffee.

Now you see, the problem is they have “improved” the sleeping bag. I know how it came to pass, some designer slept on some flannel sheets in a regular bed and was toasty warm and he/she/it thought Yreka! (Yes I know that’s a town in NorCal but haven’t we used eureka enough?) I could line the sleeping bag with flannel! Just like they did in the ‘50’s! Hot Rats! (Apparently the designer is a Zappa fan.) Well, mister designer person/thing, there’s reasons they quit using flannel as sleeping bag liner material in the ‘60s and they’re amply demonstrated above. Foolish mortals!

So, here’s what they should have done: 

• Line the bag with nylon in you slide regardless of what you’re wearing, still toasty warm and still great fun if you and partner are nekkie. If you're not you can roll over without sling-shotting your lovin' partner onto the hard, hard ground. It's an important consideration.  
• Make the outside cover of—no, I know what you’re thinking, not of flannel, not durable enough but cotton canvas is and the whole damn thing doesn’t slide down to the low side of the tent. 

Seriously, am I the only person in the world that can think of this stuff? Why don’t they just call and ask me?

Oh and by the way, talking to the goddam sleeping bag didn’t help at all, It still clutched us in a death grip every time we used it. I think I’ll go back to the ol’ Adam and Eve and give the new one to one of my kids. They don’t fight enough anyway. Fighting builds character. 

It's a Mystery

I find it fascinating that people don’t find the things I find fascinating, fascinating. 

There are people in the world that don’t know that you can tell the bed of a buck deer from the bed of a doe deer by where the puddle of morning pee is—bucks pee in the middle and does on the side, think about relative anatomy.  

There are people in the world that don’t care about what causes a mountain stream to follow a particular course down the hillside or bother to look at how the glaciers created it’s path. They don’t want to know why a songbird one tenth its size can chase a bald eagle away. There are people that don’t like poetry or music or foolishness. 

How is it that people can be so different from me? 

I mean from where I’m sitting I have everything figured out. Exactly. Except of course for the stuff I haven’t figured out yet. But why do people not see that I’m completely right? Well, right on the stuff I’m right on? 

Ok, so maybe I’m not right all the time, but still why are people so different? Don’t we all spring from the same source in some ravine somewhere in Africa? Yeah, maybe wandering around and evolving in small groups for 200,000 years could have created some differences but geez! This much difference?

I mean why is it when I tell people I drink the water out of the tunafish can everyone goes, “Eeeewwwww!” Come on, I can’t be the only one? Can I? 

Aside: After I had done that the first time my wife came home and kissed me, then in an outraged voice said, “What the hell have you been doing?! I said, “Drinking the water out of the tunafish can.” She said, “Bullshit! . . ." Then, "No, wait, no one could make that up.”

There was this movie called Shakespeare in Love. Great movie. It had this recurring line—whenever someone asked the theater owner something he couldn’t answer he would say, “It’s a mystery.” 

I agree. It’s a mystery. 

The Continuing Saga of Workin’ on the Goose

If ever you want to prove the notion of a comedic universe, get you an ol’ car and work on it. I’m pretty sure you don’t need to actually fix it, just fiddle with it. You know take this thingie off, put that framazamus on. . . that sort of thing. Of course in my case I am building a trail-worthy expedition vehicle that exemplifies the sturdy, reliable, go-anywhere, adventure-laden spirit of the first Goose, the Grey Goose. Therefore I can’t just randomly take stuff off and put it on. There must be purpose in my fiddling! 

That doesn’t mean that I don’t take a lot of stuff off or put a lot of stuff on that doesn’t need done, just that I don’t randomly do it, ok? So, I put the 3” lift kit on, in part because the old springs were shot and in part because FJ60’s need to be higher to compensate for a bit of excessive overhang in the rear (the truck, not me, dammit) and in part because they look so very much cooler if they sit higher.

And so I did, after which there was this mild vibration in the front end. Naturally I assumed it was the front axle and since there was snow on the ground and since I don’t really know doodly-squat about front ends I took it to the shop. They determined that it was all ok except for the bad birfield joint in the left axle, the rear motor/tranny mount was gone and the alignment was all screwed up. They fixed all that plus rebuilt the knuckles on the theory of while we’re here, might as well spend all the money we’ve got. Still vibrates.

So, off to IH8MUD.com where I find out that if you’ve not got a double cardan (AKA C/V) joint in a drive shaft, in this case front drive shaft and the angles at which the two u-joints operate are not very close to the same you get vibration. Which I’ve got.

So I find a guy that will put a C/V joint (AKA double cardan) in the shaft if I pull it and send it to him in Stockton CA. So out I go to do this. 

First the driveway’s all muddy so I scrape and hose that off. Then it’s all muddy at the end of the concrete so I’ll track all that back on if I pull the Goose back in, so I back it out onto the dry dirt, get my workin-on-the-truck foam mats, pull the airhose out which doesn’t reach, find the other airhose, hook it on, get the air ratchet and a 14mm deep socket, crawl under to find I need an extension, go back into the garage to find that Mikey has probably accidentally put them in his tool bag, grab a couple 14mm end wrenches, go back out to find you can’t get on the nuts with ‘em unless you pull the crossmember which is also the rear motor/tranny mount which would mean the tranny, transfer case and probably the engine will fall on the ground crushing the life out of me, thus solving all my problems.

So I went to Lewis Merc, the hardware store, and bought a couple extensions. And a 3/8” socket set that turned out to be SAE instead of Metric so I’ll put it in Hank the Cow Dodge and get a Metric one for the Goose. But I digress. Then I came home, stabbed myself with my knife while opening the socket set, went inside, got a bandaid, made a cup of coffee and sat down to ponder my sins. . . Ok, that’s done, I’m going in! Cover me, cover me!

Naturally only the first nut came off easily, for the others on the transfercase end I had to crawl under the truck, rotate the driveshaft so I could get on the nut, crawl out, lock the hubs, crawl in, pull a nut and repeat. The front was a little easier, only had to lock the hubs once and pull ‘em all after I got the two foot breaker bar on ‘em. I only lost two washers—they felt the need to dive into the tubular crossmember, there to reside in caked grease forever—of the eight and didn’t lose any of the nuts and bolts. That could be a record for me. Driveshaft all packed up and ready to go and off to the post office and away it goes.

Now what was the point of all this? Anyone remember? Um, something about funny galaxies? No, wait,  comedic universe, that was it. You see, in addition to the camel—a horse designed by committee—the way mechanic-ing goes serves to prove it. Why else would the gremlins, brownies, fairies, angels or God or whomsoever is driving this train hide the extension or make Mikey take ‘em by accident or whatever happened to them? Why else would the nuts on the driveshaft have been torqued to a million foot pounds? Why else would I have bought the wrong socket set? (Yes, I can blame the almighty for my mistakes as well as anyone.) 

Simple isn’t it? God, the universe or whatever has a sense of humor. 

Creation vs. Evolution or Be Nice, Don’t Fight

The notion of creationism is not ridiculous to me. The notion that the world was created some 20,000 years ago is. Too much evidence to the contrary. 

Then again, given the evidence of the platypus, that could have been God messing with our heads like, “Hey, Satan! Come over here and check this out! You know how I built the world in seven days a mere 20,000 years ago? Yeah? Well look what I did, I put a bunch of stuff there so the people would think it was a helluva lot older than that! Hah! Now that’s funny right there!” 

I know, you’re wondering why God is talking to Satan and not Michael or Gabriel, well, here’s why: Michael is seriously lacking in the sense of humor department and Gabriel is always blowing that damn horn and Satan was hangin' with God in Job. 

Anyway, why can’t it be that the world, the galaxy, universe and all that stuff were actually created by God, but by actually using evolution?

Think about this, if the bible is right and we are created in God’s image (Ever notice that it says in ‘our’ image? What’s up with that?) then wouldn’t our thought processes work like God’s, perhaps with a few less memory chips and smaller hard drives? 

That's what I thought too. So isn’t this how humans create stuff: I’m sitting on the ground and an apple falls on my head. Not being Newton I don’t create the theory of gravity but instead note how it rolls over the ground after bouncing off my head. I think, hey, if I had a couple of those on a stick-I could call that an axle-I could roll stuff. 

AND if I made ‘em of harder stuff, say wood, I could fashion a way to carry stuff and if I had two axles with a platform I could carry lots of stuff and if I put a donkey or platypus in front I could have them pull it! 

The next thing you know, you’ve got General Motors and some President is bailing them out!

Right? I know! Now it doesn’t take a rocket surgeon to figure out that the process just described is the evolution of the automobile.

So. A quick reverse engineering of the universe from the apple-automobile example and you got both your “God Created the Universe,” and “The Universe Evolved.” Combined. Problem solved. 

Cosmic integration, just another service I offer. Along with sarcasm and pretty damned good cooking. Just sayin’. 

We should get something to eat. Just sayin'.

Gender Understanding

I sometimes wonder if a book written from a woman’s point of view by a man, or from a man’ s point of view by a woman would yield some great understanding about either. 

Isn’t it possible that a woman could see things in a man the man can’t? 

If that’s possible, then couldn’t she write it out so the man could read it and think, “Oh, that’s where that came from," or "Oh, that’s why I do that.” 

Then the same thing would happen on the flipside and women and men would understand each other so much better. Relationships would blossom and stay fresh. 

Nah, probably not.

When You Love Someone

When you love someone you sort of lose track of what you’re doing, how you’re doing it and why you’re doing it. 

So like you go through the day and you get up and make coffee and cook breakfast—Fat Jack’s Bacon and Egg Sandwiches would be nice—and clean up and take a shower and get dressed and go do whatever it is you do like work on your LandCruiser and shovel the mud off the driveway and make lunch and clean up and do the living room floors and cook dinner and clean up and watch “Parenthood” and brush your teeth and go to bed and make love and go to sleep.

Then she dies. And you realize that everything you did, you did for her, with her. Everything was about her, filtered through the reality of her. 

When you cook breakfast you turn to give a sandwich to her. When you get dressed you turn and ask her if you look ok. When you work on the Landcruiser you come in to tell her about it. Before you make lunch you turn to ask her if she wants some. You holler for her to come look at the clean driveway and living room floors. Make dinner for her and turn to her to laugh or cry about “Parenthood.” But she isn’t there. You go to bed and you’re alone. So very alone. And there is no more love-making.

But you’re not dead. You act like it but you’re not. So you go through the motions, adjust your actions to the new, hateful reality. Mostly you just sit, both figuratively and literally. You don’t do the floors. The Landcruiser patiently waits and quietly rusts. Friends wonder where you’ve been. You travel a lot because it’s easier when you’re not at home.

So then, as the universe is so very good at doing, something happens. You meet someone. Zeezzzitt! Sparks fly. You thought you were old and ugly and saggy and sad, she thinks you’re cute. Pow! You’re back. 

It doesn’t exactly work out, but it doesn’t exactly not work out either. Which proves that while the universe does stuff for you, it also has a rather wicked sense of humor.  

Wait and see. This is a strange and wonderful place, this world. It never gets old, living here.

It's a Zen World

It’s a zen world. 

You look and look and bust your ass looking. 

Then you say, 'F#$% it,’ and quit and then over it you trip. 

It jumps in your lap. It appears in your hands. Bolt from the blue. 

You say, ‘where was it when I was looking so hard?’ Whisper steals into your mind, ‘Here all along, here all along. Waiting for you to be ready.’

Talking to Hammers (Hey! Read me first!)

It’s important to talk to things. Certainly to people, but also to dogs and cats. Trees, fish, lakes, the odd lizard you come upon, you should talk to them also. Cars, motorcycles, even microwaves and washing machines they should be addressed also. 

I have a friend, a born-again Christian, who would say this is at best heretical and at worst idol worship. 

I have another friend, a Native American, that would admit there are spirits in the ‘natural’ things but not the machines. 

I’ve long disagreed with the Christian view and considered the Native American view valid for an equally long time. On reflection I have decided that all things have spirits because all things come from nature. Even if natural substances have been manipulated or tweaked, they’re still from nature.

Consider: is charcoal any less wood because it’s burned? Altered yes, but no less a part of nature and no less a form of wood. 

So that’s why I tell the microwave I hope it likes 90 seconds instead of a minute and a half. 

I tell my LandCruiser that she’s doing well and to just ignore those silly show-off hot-rod pickups flying by us ‘cause she’ll get to the top of the mountain as well or even better. 

I even told a hammer once to be careful because while there is joy in slamming down on a nail head it would inconsiderate to slam down on my thumb. 

It listened for then but forgot the next day because after all, hammers are steel and wood and don’t have long memories.