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.