i felt like a gringo

Today for lunch me and the guys from work went to a Mexican restaurant. More precisely, we went to one of those Mexican restaurants run by white people where they over-Americanize the food. Our dramatic server, for example, kept imploring the two guys who ordered taco salads to try the "Mexican Ranch" dressing, which he described as a mix of ranch dressing and salsa. Having loaded up on meat and cheese the past four days in a row, I went with the Vegetarian Enchiladas, which were filled with a mix of squash, asparagus, and red potatoes. Another fine example of the pervasive Americanization. It was pretty good, though. Surprisingly, despite the healthy appearance and comparatively bland taste of the meal compared to real Mexican food, I left the restaurant with heartburn, which persists to this minute. I'm thinking of putting out the fire with a brewski after I finish blogging.

Tomorrow I'm planning on riding my bike to work for the first time. Gas continues to inch its way toward four dollars a gallon in Alabama, with regular unleaded now being just a quarter shy in most places. Laziness is the primary reason I have not yet tried the bike instead. This morning I drove the route I'll take on my bike--slightly different from my usual route, to avoid dangerous traffic--and I'm pretty sure I can make it without becoming steamrolled. In preparation for the mad dash to avoid the smash, I checked out my bike a few minutes ago, inspecting the drivetrain, blowing off dust, and filling the tires. I stupidly walked out onto my balcony with bare feet, and picked up some kind of metal sliver with my big toe (possibly left over from earlier bike work). I got a flashlight and looked for it but I can't see it, and I can't tell exactly where it is, so I think probing with a needle would just cause a lot of needless pain. Not needless to be needleless.

i scream

About this time last week I got antsy and felt like getting out of town, so I planned a day trip for Saturday. Looking at a map for a little while, I thought a reasonable route seemed to be to head east-southeast into the so-called Ridge and Valley region and have a look at their mountains. I decided to take the trip into northwest Georgia, too, since I had not been there but once, briefly, and that was a very long time ago. For some reason the city of Rome looked enticing, so I planned to turn around there. I had no idea what I was going to do in Rome, but that was part of the mystique and adventure.

After some deliberation and realization that gas was very expensive, I thought it might be better to take the same amount of fuel and go somewhere more outwardly worthwhile than modest Rome (sorry, Romans). I have a friend from back home who now lives in Chattanooga, whom I had not seen in half a decade, whom I thought it would be fun to visit. Again consulting the map, I saw Chattanooga was approximately the same distance as Rome, just north instead of south, and I would still go through Georgia to get there. I called my friend and she said to come on, so the Rome idea went out the window.

I was on the road by 8:00 and, well, drove. I didn't get out of the car until DeSoto Falls in DeSoto State Park, northeast of Fort Payne (Official Sock Capital of the World). Took some photos of the falls, which were (was?) pretty nice. Continued northeast from DeSoto Falls to Mentone, AL, which is a quaint resort community. Georgia was right around the corner. I turned north at Summerville and it was pretty ho-hum until Chattanooga. I did go through the historic Civil War town of Chickamauga, considering stopping, but instead opting to only slow down and briefly get lost. I made the beeline to Chattanooga from there. After actually entering Chattanooga proper, I took a side trip up Lookout Mountain (actually, Lookout "Mountain" is really a plateau and I had been on it already in and around Mentone). I got lost again, going in and out of Georgia about five times before finding a place to "Lookout", though I had to pay a quarter to park.

Atop the mountain I called my friend and we made plans to meet downtown at the riverfront, where all the action is. We planned to meet at Market and 3rd, which was no problem to find, although the street parking was quite limited. All through the city, from the mountain to downtown, I had been behind an ice cream truck (though not one scouting for customers). Driving down Market, my eyes were more fixed on the curb, looking for an empty space. I saw one and shot into it. I had not been paying enough attention to notice the ice cream truck had been stopped in the street in front of me, until I had put the transmission in park. When I did see the truck, I thought there was enough traffic that it was at the end of a line waiting to go through a traffic light. The driver of the truck, a late-middle-aged man with a buzz cut, got out and started cussing me out in the middle of the right lane, saying that I had to have known he had his blinker on. When he said this I did indeed notice the right blinker flashing dimly under the bright midday sun. Not being from the East Coast, I apologized and went and found another spot. Shouldn't an ice cream man, in routine contact with children, be a little nicer than this?

Anyway, my friend and I walked around for a while, looked at some of the arts shops and things, then went to the Tennessee Aquarium, then got ice cream and sat on a bench on a pedestrian mall, talking about the "good ole days." Specifically, we discussed how everything's changed since we graduated high school, more specifically, how everyone we knew has changed since high school. We swapped a lot of stories. As she put it, at one point when we realized we were both gossiping up a storm, it's really fun to talk to someone from back home about things going on back home, knowing you both escaped.

workin' on the chain, gang

Once upon a time I was reading a bike parts catalog and discovered that at least one company makes a mechanical device specifically designed for cleaning a bike chain. I was intrigued by the device mostly because the two bikes I own both have always had nasty, grimy chains. A dirty chain carries gunk into the derailleur and sprockets and promotes wear of those parts, not to mention leaves an ugly mark on your leg, or worse your socks and/or pants, if you are unlucky enough to lean the bike over on your leg while stopped at a traffic light.

I had never really had the time and loose change needed to get one of the chain cleaners and put it to use. Saturday afternoon I went to a bike shop to look at trunk racks and ended up buying the "Cyclone" Chain Cleaning System, which included the mechanical chain cleaning thing, a special brush designed for cleaning sprockets, and some citrus-based cleaning fluid, for about thirty dollars. I also bought some chain lube. I waited until the following afternoon to try it out. I put my bike in my kitchen, which is just barely big enough to be a bike garage, and set up. The "Cyclone" instructions said to put the bike on a stand so that the bottom part of the chain would be horizontal. I don't own a stand (though it's now at the top of my bike shopping list), so I picked up the front wheel and put two phone books underneath it, and leaned the bike against the fridge (it does not have a kickstand). The chain was approximately horizontal. I followed the directions, attaching the device to the chain, filling it with the citrus stuff, and proceeding to turn the pedals backwards 30 revolutions. Trying to hold the Cyclone in one hand and turn the pedals with the other was impossible because running the chain through the thing was not a frictionless process. The bike kept rolling off the phonebooks. Finally, I figured out to use my two feet to hold the wheels in place and my hands to do the cleaning. After a few difficult revolutions I got the rhythm of it and was able to do it pretty fast.

One direction on the sheet that I ignored was the need to protect the work area with newspapers. I was on my kitchen floor, which is impermeable, and I assumed the newspapers would only serve to catch particles of gunk that got brushed off the chain. I know how to sweep, so I forged on without newspaper. After getting the rhythm of the process, as I mentioned above, I got to turning the pedals quickly, which didn't give the sponge at the chain's exit from the cleaning machine enough time to absorb all the dirty citrus-grease mixture, so it slung off the "clean" chain and got all over my floor and the fridge and my shoes (fortunately they're old shoes I only ride my bike in). It looked like I'd been chasing an octopus, there was so much black stuff around the bike. Not to mention my bike's white frame, which looked like Cookies 'n Cream. And the directions said to repeat the operation at least once more to get the chain as clean as possible.

I did manage to wipe up all the black liquid, and using the combination of the Cyclone device, the brush, and lots of paper towels to wipe excess liquid off the chain and sprockets, the chain is much cleaner than before. So I suppose I'm pleased with the performance, although I don't think the process is as easy or possibly as fun as they want you to think it will be in the store. It is pretty satisfying, I guess, to know you're prolonging the life of your drivetrain and any pants you may wear while riding the bike. The bad news: the bike I cleaned up yesterday was the "clean" bike--the big job has yet to be tackled. The other bike is the one I had when I was a teenager, the one I used to lubricate with my dad's grease gun, then ride through the woods and tall grass. Just like I used to eat Nerds candy while I chewed gum.

blood swag

On account of the unusually cool weather today, I put on a long-sleeve T-shirt this morning. It is an olive drab shirt, about half a size too small, with a fake-looking American Red Cross logo on the front. I got it in return for donating blood last fall. Usually when I give blood, they give me something I don't need, but I can never say no. I'm building up a good collection of this stuff. This T-shirt, and another short-sleeve one I got another time, are the only things I've ever gotten to date, that I've actually used. I did get an apron one time, which says "American Red Cross Blood Donor" on the front. I've never taken it out of the package, but I'm saving it for one day in the distant future when I have a backyard and a grill. I would be more eager to wear it, though, if it had some humorous statement blending the blood donation theme with a raw meat theme, e.g., "I Like Mine Bloody!". I, for one, are not of the type that would lose their appetite upon seeing a cook wearing such an apron.

Anyway, this shirt makes me feel weird because it doesn't say, "Blood Donor" beneath the Red Cross logo. Although it seems pretentious to me, to wear things flaunting the fact that I've given blood. But without saying that, it looks like I either work for the Red Cross, or this is a shirt from a store like Abercrombie & Fitch or one of those other trendy clothing stores where crosses often dominate printed designs. Or at least they did when I was in high school. So I guess I'd prefer feeling pretentious to feeling like a poseur.

Speaking of giving blood: the NHL playoffs are heating up. Lately, though, whenever I watch a hockey game, or any sporting event for that matter, I tend to dwell on the philosophy of it all. I no longer have the capability to consistently root for one team unless they are the underdog. When I latch onto one team, I keep focusing on how it must feel to be a fan for the other team, and/or what is must be like to actually be playing in the game, when this time of year, you really are fighting to avoid an early trip to the golf course. Sometimes I think I'd enjoy sports a lot more if I had a lobotomy.

mom of the year

Last weekend my cube-mate Chris and I went to the movies. We chose to go to the new "Bridge Street" development, a ritzy open-air mall with a multiplex theater and a handful of restaurants being the only things guys like Chris and I would want to partake in. The theater is all the way in the back of the thing. On the walk there, we went by some restaurant where dozens of people sat outside waiting for a table. Huntsville has a law prohibiting smoking in all public buildings except those that don't admit minors, so a lot of them were smoking while they could legally do so. Among these people puffing away was a very pregnant woman. As we walked past I could not take my eyes off her. I thought, surely it's not really a cigarette; it must be a sucker stick or straw. But then she put it to her lips. A lot of my non-Southern friends would laugh now, "huh huh, that's Alabama for you, huh huh," and then hum the first couple bars of "Dixie Land." But this woman would have fit in well in Hollywood, judging by her clothes and gaudy sunglasses. The irresponsibility, selfishness, and possibly ineptitude, that would permit a person to endanger their unborn child in such a way, obviously crosses cultural bounds. I hope I'm wrong, that it was only a candy cigarette. Or maybe she wasn't pregnant; maybe she just had an especially rotund beer belly.

I was going to talk about some other stuff, but I don't feel like it anymore.

shake shake shake

Everybody's talking about this earthquake. At 4:30 CT this morning, or thereabouts, a relatively strong earthquake, 5-ish on the Richter scale, shook the Midwest and Upper South. The epicenter was somewhere near Mt. Carmel, Illinois. Obviously, from my highly precise description, you can tell I've been reading up on it. I did not feel this one, though. I was sound asleep at the time, but apparently it was felt in the Huntsville area. I've never felt an earthquake before--I should probably consider that a blessing, but for some reason I think it would be a character-building experience.

It's ironic that this happened now, three months and change since I moved from St Louis, which was only 120 miles or so from the epicenter. My friend Mike reports that the shaking was intense enough that he woke up. A lot of people, namely the writers for the NBC Nightly News earlier tonight, are shocked that earthquakes actually happen in the U.S. outside California. The quake was definitely news-worthy, but it really shouldn't surprise people. Well, I guess it's hard not to be surprised by an earthquake, since they are completely unpredictable, but from a scientific standpoint, it's not unheard of for one to occur in the central states. Though the tremors were definitely big news in and around St Louis, which is the nearest major city to the epicenter, but also a city essentially waiting to be demolished when the New Madrid Fault cuts loose, probably sometime within 150 years. St Louis was an up-and-coming village when the last major earthquakes happened in 1811 and '12. People had either forgotten or gotten complacent by the city's boom in the first half of the 20th century, but I think in recent years the danger has become more apparent, and some attempts have been made to earthquake-proof city structures. They have a long way to go. I imagine people around town were a little edgy today, expecting the true "Big One" to come at any moment.

Oh well...I suppose if I live long enough there might be a breakthrough in the unsolved problem of earthquake forecasting, and I'll be one of the first "earthquake chasers," driving to predicted epicenters to wait to feel my first quake.


In other news: Tonight was a real heartbreaker in Detroit. The Preds played an awful game, but goalie Dan Ellis was awesome. Absolutely incredible. He stopped 51 shots in regulation, most of which Detroit led 1-0, having scored on an early high shot. Needless to say, the Preds were completely outplayed. The Preds pulled Ellis with about a minute left in regulation and scored to send the game to overtime. They looked good in the extra period--I really thought they were going to get somewhere. Nashville took one shot, but maintained the drive, preventing Detroit from getting a retaliation shot. On the way back to the Detroit end, a Predator gave the puck up to Detroit's Franzen, who scored immediately. So Dan the Man, after being a brick wall for sixty minutes, gave up a goal on the first overtime shot. Still, he's got to be admired. And the team did put on a good rally in Hockeytown, which isn't a particularly fun place to be the team in white.

Years ago I actually was a Red Wings fan. Then the Predators came into being, who drew my attention and support, but I still usually rooted for the Wings. In 2002, I even remember wearing my Red Wings jersey to a Wings game in Nashville. And then I moved to St Louis and started rooting for the Blues. The Blues, Wings, and Preds are all in the Central Division, along with Chicago and Columbus. So rooting for the Blues meant hating the Wings. (St Louis has had a team long enough that local allegiances are almost universally to the home team, whereas Nashville had hockey fans of various allegiances long before the Preds came around, limiting the rivalry.) And about the same time I got tired of seeing the Red Wings always win. At least in the regular season. It still kind of bothers me, because the other teams in the Central Division, none of which are doing all that well right now, continue to suffer at the hands of the Wings.

Of course, it's a fair game, so it's not really possible to blame anyone for anything, but I do propose a solution: move the Wings to the Eastern Conference in exchange for one of the ailing teams on the East's western fringe, like Atlanta or Toronto (Toronto was in the Western Conference before 1998). That way, my beloved Central Division teams might have a chance to flourish for a while. But I guess that isn't so fair to everyone but me. Humph.

punt, pass & kick

One of these words is the name for the conical indentation in the bottom of a wine bottle, a term I learned sometime between now and the last time I posted. I'll leave you to Google, if you don't know.

I traveled to the Old Country last weekend to visit my folks. My dad had been in Texas on a hog-hunting expedition all week, and did not get back home until early Saturday morning. His stories of desert follies with his buddies provided a lot of entertainment Saturday afternoon. Also Saturday, I spent several hours going over math topics with my mom. She wanted to be refreshed, and in some cases taught outright, a bunch of stuff from precalculus. Most of it I have used enough since my last math courses five years ago that it was a piece of cake, but it was good for me too, because I was forced to look up some stuff I'd forgotten. After she was up to speed, we went to eat supper at a sports bar slash restaurant run by some Chicagoans. I went all-out and ate both a Chicago-style hot dog and a plate of spaghetti in one sitting.

After I came back here Sunday night, I went to Kroger to get food for the week. On my way out of the store I noticed they had a cooler up front from which you could buy dry ice for 99 cents a pound. To my knowledge I have never been anywhere offering dry ice for sale. I think it would be fun to buy some to play with. I'm going to do a little research to find out about the handling requirements and maybe on an upcoming weekend I will experiment.

Work has been trying these past few days. Seems like I can't get anywhere with my latest projects. Also, I've been working more intensely on computing tasks that have nothing to do with meteorology, which gets to me after a few hours--but I've been hacking away at these for two-plus work days now. If you have ever tried computer programming, you know that to be efficient you have to get in the mindset of thinking like a computer. That is challenging and intriguing for me, to a point, but then I find it annoying and stressful.

Normally I try and stay at work during lunch, to save gas and to prevent myself from eating restaurant food and burning money unnecessarily. These past two days, though, by 12:00, I've needed a change of scenery. Yesterday I went to this electronics store to get a tool I needed. I took a few minutes to look around. I found a bunch of used video equipment. I am a video buff, so I liked what I found. Among other items were two old Betamax machines. In the late 90s, long after Beta was trashed as a consumer format, I became interested in learning about the old machines after reading some articles on the Internet. About the same time I went to a consignment shop and stumbled upon a SL-HF750, which was one of Sony's late-80s attempts to revive the dying format with a technological marvel aimed (apparently) at the "serious amateur" videographer. It was pretty nifty in design and featured built-in editing features. This thing was $100. Seemed like a definite yes...except I was in high school. I could've scraped up the money, but it would have been tough, and more importantly I wasn't sure I'd want to spend such a sum on a machine I couldn't get tapes for. I passed on it. Well, in the store yesterday, one of the machines was an SL-HF2000, the last consumer Betamax machine that Sony produced for the U.S. I thought the proprietor of the store might not know what he had and would sell it for cheap, but no. I inquired about the price and he kind of laughed, seemingly suggesting it was out of my price range. He then said it was not for sale. We talked Beta for a minute and I told him about almost getting the '750 ten years ago for $100 and he said I should have bought it--as that machine now fetches $1500 with collectors. My jaw dropped. I took back the mild offense at his earlier suggestion I couldn't afford the '2000 if it were for sale. Sure enough, today I found a business online selling the '2000 for US$1300.

Today I also needed a change of scenery. I was originally just going to sit in my car staring at the sky for an hour, but I decided to go for a drive. I ended up at a Vietnamese restaurant around the corner from work. I'd never had Vietnamese before; I'd been turned off by earlier descriptions of it citing a strong dependence on seafood and entrails. I went in skeptical, but read the menu, which turned out to have many items with ingredients I did like. I got some phở. Turned out to be wonderful. The service was good too. I guess I have a new favorite.

The answer was punt, by the way.