WUMF: July 2012 Edition

Missed it by that much…It’s August.

YouTube Update

It’s been hard recording, lately.  For one, I just haven’t had a lot of free time and some of the series are dependent on a couple of factors.   Secondly, with summer vacation still in effect, I’ve had my daughter up later in the evenings.  She wants to be more involved which is sweet, but I can’t be as free to play as I am explaining or conversing with her instead of playing.

Also, I’ve been meaning to get some PS3 content up.  I have Last of Us and am anticipating Grand Theft Auto V in September.   The problem there is that my Avermedia capture device won’t show up on my television.   I bought it online awhile back and never got around to setting it up.  When I did, it didn’t work and now I am lost on how to fix it up.

First Place Pirates

What the hell is going on there, eh?   A seven game losing streak for the Cardinals has fed the Buccos much needed games to overtake the World Series Champs in the standings.   I still won’t fully invest myself in them until they reach 82 wins.  I’ve jumped on the bandwagon the last two years only to be disappointed.   

They’ve been playing real well but the post break collapses always make me cry.   Seems their downfall the last two years was marked by a 19 inning game.   The first year, they lost that game.  Last year, they won it.   They haven’t had one this year, but that double header against St. Louis could count.   However, they pretty much owned the Cards this series and are playing Colorado and Miami before heading out to St. Louis for three more.   If they can keep the momentum, they are on their way.

Good luck.   I will be pleasantly surprised.

Smash it Forward

The last couple of weeks were a testing of my faith in humanity.   While paying for my father-in-law’s gas, a lady took a fifty dollar bill that I had dropped.  GetGo (Giant Eagle) loss prevention managed to track down the lady from the video and loyalty card transaction that day and she brought the fifty back to me.  In turn, I donated $25 to two animal based organizations and made a public call to action.   Going forward, if you can tell me of a Paying It Forward moment you perpetrated, I will send you a free t-shirt.  If you buy the same t-shirt, which is also for sale, I will put a dollar into a fund which will get donated each month based on your preferences, majority rules.  

Now, it may seem stupid but is it really?  All you have to do is be generous with your time.  I don’t need you giving money away, but it has to be a substantial act.  And, yes, I understand that it seems trivial to just give away a shirt.  But, we don’t do good deeds for rewards.  I just want to acknowledge this act and promote the idea.   I am the one putting my money up to make the shirts.  I’m paying for your good deeds.    I am perpetually paying it forward.   I want to start a revolution of good deeds.  This shouldn’t be about, “What’s in it for me?”  This should be about, “What can I do to make it better?”

More details can be found here.

Carma

This past weekend, I finally got up the outside Christmas lights. I also cleaned the bathroom from top to bottom. Now, that may not seem like a lot of activity, but apparently, it was enough to tweak my back a bit. By Tuesday morning, I was finding it extremely difficult to move or bend.

I must have also pissed off the gods of nature because I was delivered a car-mic blow coming to work. I have about a 35 mile commute which can take anywhere from 45 minutes to an hour, depending on traffic. Now, I leave in the dark and get to work in the dark, so noticing any potential problems with the car when I leave is somewhat hard. As it was, I didn’t notice anything while driving for about 25 to 30 minutes.

In fact, it wasn’t until I entered the Squirrel Hill tunnels that I noticed something wrong. As I was exiting, the car felt and sounded weird. My first thought was a tie rod went. So, I pulled off to the side of the road and looked. The back passenger tire was flat and smoking. Apparently, I’d been riding the rim pretty good for awhile. Yet, somehow, I never noticed it until then. Realizing I had no room or light to change the tire on the side of 376 West, I limped into Oakland and stopped at a Sunoco. I was hoping to just fill the tire with air. Hopefully, it would be enough to get me to the office and I could deal with it when it was light out.

As I hooked up the air, I could hear it hissing out from somewhere else on the tire. This was not going to be enough of a patch. So, I dug out the donut and jack. Now, over the course of 10 years, I have changed a few tires, using the supplied jack. It’s a pain in the ass, but in a pinch, it gets the job done. However, the jack on my ’05 Malibu Wagon was not one I had ever seen and harder to get disassembled. Realizing I was probably fighting a losing battle, I called my dad (A.K.A. my insurance agent) to ask him if my insurance covered towing back to my place or the local garage I use..

“No.”

So, I sucked it up and fought some more with the jack until I thought I had broke it. Then, if there was any more proof needed that there are still good people out there, I was saved by a random stranger. He was there getting gas and saw me struggling with the jack. He came over and managed to figure it out and we began changing the tire. Unfortunately, the iron they supply to remove the lugs wasn’t exactly great and a few of my lugs felt like they were rounded off, slipping as we tried to turn the handle, probably from over tightening at the garage I usually get tires put on at. My savior apologized because he had to leave and go pick up his wife. He did say that he would swing back around and if I was still there, he’d continue to help.

I struggled with the last two lugs, resorting to smacking the end of the iron with the bottom of the jack to get a snug fit. Stepping on the handle and applying the equivalent of my full body weight in torque nearly dropped me to my knees when the iron slipped off the lug. Random stranger returned and we both worked on the last two lugs, getting them off and pulling the tire. The inside of the tire looked as if Edward Scissorhands had put it on in the first place. The inside was completely shredded and smelled of burnt rubber. We laughed at the sight and I told him that if he wanted a real laugh, know that my last name was ironic. He said something to the effect of “If I was a girl, I’d have a whole pit crew out here changing this thing.” Unfortunately, it was hard for me to get any torque or even bend over to work on the car. My back was making it hard to breathe. The stranger did most of the work, which made me feel like an invalid, but I was thankful.

During the whole ordeal, I offered to buy him and his wife coffee for their trouble. He declined the offer. I then realized I had a $100 bill in my pocket. Our department meeting was going to be at the Casino later and afterwards, I was going to do a little gambling. Hard to fathom, I had been gambling with my life on this tire.

After the donut was on, I thanked the stranger, named Matt, repeatedly and made a last ditch effort to compensate him for his time. I tried to give him my $100 bill, but he declined, again. I tried hard, but he wouldn’t take it.  He was a decent person, selflessly helping a stranger in need. Gave me a good feeling. I hope to pay it forward, as long as someone doesn’t need tire changing help.

As a side note, I drove to work, on the donut, with the hazards on, going around 40 mph. Even with my four ways on, I still had plenty of people honking and flashing me with their high beams. Turns out, the same side as the blown tire had a blown turn signal bulb. So… I looked like that one jackass, driving 40 on the highway with his blinker on for 10 miles. During my lunch, I went to a local shop up the street and got two brand new winter tires. They were probably both due, anyway. Merry Christmas… again. After all, I wasn’t about to drive downtown, to the casino, on the donut and I wasn’t going to just ride with someone else and come back to a donut at six o’clock in the evening, still needing to change out the donut. Then, today, I stood out in the cold and fixed the bulb. Did wonders for my aching back, standing there without a coat.

The Ruination Of Easter or How I Can't Win With My Kid

Here’s a little tip for all you parents out there just getting into the threes and fours with your children.  Expect the ruination of any holiday by your own hand.

On Good Friday, while my wife was at work, I took on the task of coloring eggs with my daughter. I set it all up and let her have at it and she did a really great job. She colored 2/3 of the eggs all by herself. She put the eggs in the cup and put them on the rack to dry. No parental mucking up of the process.  It was because of that self sufficiency that made it horribly apparent that this would all end in tears.

See, after Easter is over. Those eggs need to be dealt with in some manner. You either use them or throw them away.

Personally, I’d rather use them. Chef salad and egg salad sandwiches are a wonderful use of hard boiled colored eggs. Unfortunately, they are also the last fates a four year old wants to see beset upon her prized colored eggs.

Last Wednesday was the day of eggs-ecution. I had hoped to do it in secret but unfortunately, my child is nosy and has to be involved with everything regardless of what kind of exploration Dora is doing at the time.

I pulled the carton out and began to peel the eggs. There was some initial begging and pleading for the eggs on her part. There was even some bargaining for a commuted sentence. I even think she promised to be a good girl at one point. Alas, dinner would wait for no one, not even the sobs of a four year old.

She fled to the safety of her bedroom and wet her pillow with the sobs and wails of someone who just watched their child put to death for the amusement of others. All her hard work, the accomplishment of coloring the eggs by herself, destroyed by the hand of the father. It was almost a tragedy of Greek or Biblical proportions.

Eventually, the cries of anguish subsided, replaced with the sounds of snores. She had cried herself to sleep, the poor thing. And in an hour, she was awakened for dinner and the sobs and ire for her father resumed.

But, I was to not be outdone by my wife who placed her bunny crazy straw in the dishwasher this past weekend. She straightened that bitch out… and I’m talking about the straw.

As I sat there, waiting for karma to free me from the guilt of being made the hand of fate against those eggs last week, I was given the cold shoulder and my daughter said, “It’s OK mommy. It was an accident.”

I hate holidays.