WW is a consultant for Creative Memories, a scrapbooking hobby supply retailer. She loves the books she produces, and enjoys helping others do the same. Check out her site at http://www.mycmsite.com/sites/eliseackerman
I love my Jeep Wrangler.
I loved it since the day i bought it six years ago.
I have loved Jeeps even though one almost killed me in high school. (horrible Jeep-rolling accident. No big whoop.)
I had owned a Jeep Grand Cherokee before, but it just wasn't the same. I have owned an assortment of cars: Dodge Ram 50 pickup, Honda Civic DX, Jeep Grand Cherokee Limited, BMW 318i, Dodge Neon. But it wasn't until I bought this car that I realized what I was meant to drive.
I took it with me from the North when I moved to the Deep South. I have taken it on road trips, including ones to the Outer Banks to be able to reach the most northern coastal points where there are no roads but beautiful beaches. I drive it every day to work. I miss it when I swap cars with my wife.
Driving the Jeep up north was great during the winter -- you can get anywhere with four-wheel drive. With it's higher-than-normal ground clearance, I can hop curbs and park anywhere.
Down south it has been even better -- it is a convertable and more. I can take the rear windows out and catch a breeze. I can leave the top up and take the doors off giving it a "golf-cart" kind of feel for cruising around town. It's maneuverable, with a tight turn radius, so I can make my way easily through tough Atlanta traffic.
Best of all, it makes me feel good. I am happy driving that Jeep.
With Summertime here, I need to find a way to minimize the amount of rain that gets inside my Jeep on the days that I am enjoying the Jeep-benefits. The current project is clearing out the garage of the accumulated kiddie-stuff: toys, wagons, strollers (there are four...), cribs, walkers, megasaucers, desks, etc. I need to organize the tools, lawn mowers (there are two of those), wheel barrows, and other lawn maintenance accessories that go mostly under-used. And lastly I need to throw away all the old boxes from gifts, appliances, monitors and other purchases that we have saved "just in case". Once that is all done, there will once again be room in the garage for both cars.
I have the doors off the jeep and the windows out right now. I have the top up to keep the sun off my perpetually thinning dome. I love driving it this way, but I have to pay much closer attention to the weather forcast than I normally would. It is supposed to rain on Thursday and maybe a little more on Friday. After that there will be 10 days of sunshine.
I can't wait.
Remember how I once wrote that I needed to sell the Jeep? I hope that day doesn't come too soon.
Big Boy has shown enough interest recently in people food that we have started him on baby cereal. He was so excited to eat food on a spoon, he quickly graduated from rice cereal (blick!), to baby oatmeal, to a mixture of barley, rice and oat cereal. Those of you with kids know what I am talking about. For the masses who have no idea why I haven't given my kid Rice Krispies yet, you have to understand that this is no ordinary cereal that we are feeding Bubba. This cereal is in a powder/flake form and all you do is add water, formula or milk to it and WHAMMO you have baby cereal: a puree of rice mush. It is worse than it sounds, but our kid loves it.
No one is surprised. Bubba likes food.
After about three weeks on cereal it was time to advance him up to vegetable purees. Oh yeah, you only wish you could eat this good.
Yesterday we opened up a package of sweet potatos for him. Dabbing a little bit of the food onto his lip, we sat back, watched and waited. He went to work on it, probably hoping for some bland cereal. Instead he got the shock of his short life: flavor.
His eyes shot open and he smiled wide. Mikey likes it. After a few small spoonfuls placed into his open mouth, I loaded one up with a good sized bite. So much flavor hit his palate at once, he shook and winced at the surprise. It was almost like the look someone makes when they take a lick of a lemon -- the shocked reflexive reaction when their face screws up from the sour, then a smile of pleasure at the sensations. He squeals for the food until we give him another bite. He eats everything and leaves nothing left over.
No one is surprised. Bubba likes food.
I don't know why I do this to myself.
I have a Netflix account. It is fantastic. I go online, pick out a bunch of movies I want to watch and then they ration them out to me a few at a time. My Wonderful Wife and I share the account, and we each have our own queue. She picks out all the girlie movies she wants and then I have the responsibility for choosing movies that we both would watch in between the ones that only I would be crazy enough to view.
Once every couple of months I queue up a horror flick. Normally it isn't the old fashioned movies, although I have given myself a history lesson now and again. Usually it is the cutting edge of mainstream horror films; the scariest, the grossest, the most tension-giving films you can't even imagine.
I love the rush, the thrill, the adrenaline of being scared by these movies.
But they scare me so much that it is a torture for me to watch them.
Take tonight's fare: "Hostel", a movie about American back-packers travelling Europe, lured by the promise of easy women to a particular, off-the-map, hostel where tourists are captured and used as torture victims for rich deviants. It's gory, it's scary and it's a complete stress-fest.
This movie is only 94 minutes long, but i have been watching it for over three hours. I take breaks to read up on the latest baseball scores, play a video game, write this blog. I need the breaks or I would cry myself to sleep later. I still might.
Normally, after watching one of these movies, I turn on all the lights on the way back to my bedroom. I turn on the one ahead of me before going back and turning off the ones behind me. I normally check all the doors to be sure that they are all locked. Tonight I forgot. On my way to sleep I try to distract myself from everything I just saw, normally without much luck. I sit awake, scrutinizing every sound in the entire house.
An hour ago, Little Bubba stirred himself awake. As a reflex, I paused the movie, went down the hall, entered his (dark) room and closed the door behind me so I can soothe him without bothering anyone else. As he fell back asleep, I realized how dark it was in the room. I realized how dark it was in the hall. I realized how little I wanted to open the door to leave his room.
Silly, right? If the movies bother me so much, why do I watch them?
I have no idea.
I can't help myself.
My wife just shakes her head at me. There is no way she will watch with me.
I actually only have one friend who will go see horror flicks in the theater with me: Darryl. We saw "The Village", "Saw" and some Dragon movie that wasn't really a horror film. Ok, "The Village" wasn't that scary either. But it was supposed to be. Darryl is the only one crazy enough to see these movies with me.
I still have no idea why I do it.
I am sickened by the gore, I am frightened by the shocks, I am upset by how tense the movies are.
I keep renting them.
I have about 10 minutes left in this movie. Probably not much left that will scare me, but I still needed a break to diffuse this stress I was feeling.
I'll do it again. I have fifty different horror movies in my Netflix queue, all just waiting their turn. I won't get to all of them. I'll see a lot of them.
My mother wouldn't let me watch horror films when I was a kid. I never saw any of the classics: Friday the 13th, Nightmare on Elm Street, The Omen, Amityville Horror, Evil Dead, etc. I did see Poltergeist, and it scared the pants of me. There was a birthday sleepover I went to as a kid and (I remember this distinctly) I spent most of the night in the kitchen with the kid's mother while everyone else watched "The Thing" in the living room. I knew that if I watched it, my mom would be very disappointed.
Now I know she doesn't really care. Well, I'm sure as she is reading this she is shaking her head at me just like my Wonderful Wife does, but that's okay. I have seen most of those old classics now -- I have caught myself up on the essentials.
In high school I went to the movies often. I remember seeing two horror movies in particular: "Serpent and the Rainbow" and "Prince of Darkness". Those two were enough that I didn't watch horror movies very often after that.
In college I watched the Hellraiser series. Nightmare central, my dorm room.
So what's the other movie I have? The one that is "wife approved"? "The Producers", starring Nathan Lane and Matthew Broderick. We watched the first 20 minutes of it and it was so awful that I couldn't put myself through another two hours of it. The songs were silly, the acting was over-done, and the jokes were barely funny. I normally like Mel Brooks, but I couldn't handle this. My wife checked out ten minutes earlier than I did, reaching for her book.
So I put on "Hostel" instead.
Three hours later I am tired, and I can't wait to go to bed, but I am so nervous that I am not looking forward to it.
I can't stop watching horror movies.
My sister, Bean, is getting married! After dating her boyfriend, Mike, for about a year, he decided to make her an honest woman. (whatever that means.)
Wedding dates are tentatively scheduled for this fall, and the planning is underway. I can only imagine how excited she is, and I am very happy for her.
She has asked me to sing with my sisters during the ceremony, the same song that they sang for me at my wedding. I have also been requested to sing a **gulp** solo. I may need some help picking out the song... (hint hint).
More to come.
The best part is that I wasn't the last to know. In fact, I may have been one of the first to know. Amazing.
The grocery store in the town where my parents live has this special section, near the rest of the beer coolers. I couldn't believe it even existed. Ok, I understand that there might be a need for a "non-alcoholic beer" section. In fact, we should definitely segregate that class of beer off and away from my kind of beer just in case I accidentally pick some of that up. No one will ever be able to accuse me of non-alcoholism.
What really caught my eye was the entire section, large enough to sign it, dedicated to Warm Beer. It's an insult to my eye, but I had to share it.
Here is the response from the Dr. Marten's support center:
Thanks for the clarification. Dr. Martens warrants against manufacturing defects, but not against wear and tear or comfort/fit issues. Though we cannot offer you a refund for your merchandise, we will replace it if there is a factory defect. Unfortunately we do not have facilities for repairs.
Looks like Matt is getting a new pair of sandals. Thanks Dr. Marten's. You have renewed my faith in your product.
"Grey's Anatomy" is finally over for this season and I can have my life and my wife back.
I didn't want to watch another TV show.
I don't mean that. I didn't want to get caught up in another TV show.
Too late.
My wife has watched this show from week one, and as a result I have as well. I try to avoid the trivial episodes, but I can't miss the big ones. Ok, maybe i don't actually try very hard to miss them. Maybe I will fold laundry during the show to feign indifference.
I saw the "Code Black" episode after the Super Bowl. Actually I only watched the Super Bowl just so I could know when "Grey's Anatomy" would start.
I had to watch the three hour season finale too. I needed to know what was going to happen.
Needed.
It's over.
Only one cliff-hanger for the summer. I'll forget about it in a day or so.
What else can I do with my Sunday nights? I'm sure I'll think of something.
A few months until I have to give my Sunday's back to this show. See you this fall, ABC Network.
I have a pair of sandals that I love that I can't wear. They cost more than the average pair of shoes, especially sandals. They broke after I had them for about a year, the buckle snapped and what were a barely worn pair of sandals were now an unwearable waste of money. I would normally just return them or refuse to ever buy from that manufacturer again, but these are Dr. Marten's, and if you know anything about "docs", then you know I love these shoes. So here is my predicament: I don't want to give up on these shoes, but I don't have much recourse. They were a year old when they originally broke, but they are three years old now. Not much left to do, but to appeal to the people in power.
Can you see me flexing my internet muscles? I am. I wrote an email and here's how it goes.
06/18/2004 05:46 AM
Subject: disappointed with quality of Fisherman sandals
Hi! I love the shoes, and own five pairs of Dr. Martens. One of the pairs I own I bought last summer, a pair of the 8092DUN in Bark, recently broke. The buckle for the ankle strap completely snapped off and I can't repair it myself. I am very disappointed, because I can't wear them at all anymore. They were very expensive and I would like to return these for replacement. Who should I talk to?
Matt
The Deep South
*********************
support@drmartensusa.com wrote:
Thanks for the question. We have replacement buckles for style # 8092 that we will send to you. Look for them in about 10 business days. A local shoe repair shop can snap them on for you!
Sincerely,
Consumer Relations Dept.
Dr. Martens AirWair USA
www.dmusastore.com
1-800-229-1262
*********************
05/14/2006 11:01 PM
Subject: disappointed with quality of Fisherman sandals
Me again. I am up to 6 pairs of Dr. Martens shoes now, and I still have the same pair of sandals that I wrote about below. I continue to have the problem with the buckles. Both left and right shoes have repeatedly snapped off the buckles that keep my these sandals on my feet.
It's not from overuse -- I barely get to wear them since they are constantly broken. I repair them, and it isn't too long before a buckle snaps off again.
I think it's either a design flaw or some kind of manufacturing defect. I have another pair of DM sandals that are only one year newer, and those have never broken. The problem now is that they have been repaired so frequently that the hole where the buckle snaps into has worn out faster than the rest of the shoe.
It is unacceptable that I have had to incur the cost of repairing this shoe multiple times for something that is an obvious problem with the shoe. It seems that it is enough of a "known issue" that you have packages of replacement buckles ready to send out when needed.
I was originally satisfied with the replacement buckles because I didn't think that the problem would continue. I am no longer satisfied with that solution.
Thank you for your attention.
We'll see what happens.
Ahh, ok, she is working on her doctorate still, but it's fun to call her that.
Her blog has recently moved, so update your links!
http://chnm.gmu.edu/staff/sheila/blog/
When I was in high school, I lived on Mott's apple-grape juice and chocolate chip cookies. I would buy both for less than two dollars total from the "snack lady" in the cafeteria. I never ate much for lunch, and by that, I mean I didn't eat much else than cookies and juice. But it didn't seem to matter; I was tall and on the skinny side of out-of-shape, and I still had the wrestler's metabolism from my freshman year.
There were two drink machines in our school, a public school in Connecticut where the average class size at that time was less than 300. One machine was more of what I liked to drink for lunch, Mott's fruit juices in all sorts of flavors. They were tasty and delicious, and I didn't care that they were healthy. It wouldn't have even occurred to me that they would be actually, since they tasted so sweet it felt indulgent.
The other machine was a Coke machine.
That machine stayed turned off until after last period had begun.
I might have liked the Mott's, but I craved Coca-Cola.
It didn't matter that it was pure sugar dressed up as sweet caramel colored liquid goodness. I just new that it tickled my nose and made me hyper. As if I needed any encouragement.
It didn't matter that there were rumors that the phosphoric acids in it would stunt my growth. (coke lore link) I was already over six feet tall and rising. With my coordination I had no hope of ever getting a basketball scholarship.
Looking back, however, I think I was pretty active. Active enough to balance the soda I would wait patiently for. Eventually, after a few college years of drinking alternative carbonated beverages, the cokes would have a greater effect on me.
Nowadays, Diet Coke is the way to go. One of the first things I eliminated from my diet was "sugar sodas" and I think that was a huge help in losing the first fifteen pounds. After a while I didn't even miss them. Diet Coke tasted almost as good as the real thing.
Anyway, there is a recent development that has soda machines being locked permanently in schools. This is probably a good thing, but I think that just taking the fat kid's soda away won't solve the problem.
Get the kid off the couch and back onto the soccer field, and then you will reduce the obesity problem in kids. But that's just my two cents.
Here is the link to the article: (link to the St. Louis Post Dispatch)Worth a quick read.
There seems to be some discussion about which team is more popular in Connecticut, the Red Sox or the Yankees. As if there was any dispute.
My friend Archie, a New England native is often accused of being a Sox fan because of his roots. Not so. Couldn't be further from the truth. link
While I was recently visiting CT I noticed more Sox hats than I remembered in the past. If it wasn't for one measly World Series in 80 or so years, one particular team wouldn't be so obnoxiously popular.
Here is the poll results, as reported by the unbiased Hartford Courant: article
Back at Wild Wing Café tonight, and Wings are on the menu. Additionally, I am sampling a new (to me) appetizer called “Buffalo Chips” which is their own, home fried potato chips, sprinkled with blue cheese crumbles, and accompanied by a southwestern-style ranch dip. Yum.
The wings for tonight will be the JoJo’s Red Dragon Wing, which is a hot teriyaki, and the Gold Rush Wing, a spicy honey BBQ. I have been looking forward to this for weeks. Originally, the plan was to meet at a different local restaurant to watch the Yankees-Red Sox game. A well deserved stop off at Wild Wing trumps the opening innings of the game – when you don’t get out much, you have to make sacrifices.
The beer special is the 24-ounce Miller Lite. Ok, it’s cheaper than I like, but we’re on a budget. This place has a huge beer list. It comes in a laminated notebook, filled with the names of unusual bottled beers from all over the world. There is even a decent variety of draft beers to make it easy to find something you would like. But it’s Miller Lite tonight. At $3.50 for a 24-ounce tall-boy bottle, I can’t beat the price.
But no Yankee game tonight; it's rainy in Boston so I'll have to make do with a Braves game.
Someone at the table next to me ordered the hottest wings on the menu, the Braveheart. Just a sample. They brought him two or three wings in a small bowl with the warning, “these are hot.” His first bite seemed to go down easy, until he sniffled. That’s when his eyes started to water. His second bite was drenched in ranch dressing, but by then it was too late; he couldn’t close his mouth anymore. The wings were so hot (much to his pleasure, “these are awesome,” he said), he breathed with his mouth open for the rest of his meal, whistling breaths through his open lips. It was funny to watch him “enjoy” his meal.
By the way, the official diet will resume tomorrow. No one here is skinny, except the waitresses (but not all of them). Fried in oil, then dredged through a butter based sauce, Buffalo-style wings are not for the calorie conscious.
Baseball is an intellectual game. It is a game of finesse as well as a game of skill. It is also a game surrounded by statistics.
Players are ranked and compared based on a number of production statistics: how many home runs they hit, how many batters they strike out. These are the kind of stats that put people in the seats. It's those great numbers that fill baseball stadiums and pique people's interest in the sport.
Baseball statisticians then can crunch all those numbers and make predictions about how certain players will perform in certain situations against certain teams in particular ball parks at specific times of the day. Yep, they get very granualar.
Some statistics are very interesting. For example, Jason Giambi of the New York Yankees is currently having a great season. He leads his team in home runs (9), has a high number of RBIs (27) and has a great batting average (.328). Sounds like he is Mr. Steady, right? Ole Reliable he is not. Actually, if you are an opposing team, you are praying that you play the Yankees at night. While during day games Giambi is hitting a super 8 homers, 21 RBIs and .556 batting average, at night he is only hitting a meager 1 home run, 6 RBIs, and .162 average. Awful. This is the kind of information that makes the game of baseball all about matchups, and strategy based on statistics.
An unusual stat was brought to my attention recently. It is so oddball that I needed to mention it here. The Kansas City Royals team doesn't have much to celebrate in the past twenty years. Their team is, well, miserable. There is one thing of note, one thing that the statisticians found to give the Royals credit for, and it has to do with the right side of their infield. The two players who currently play first and second base for the Kansas City Royals hold the record for the longest names for active first and second basemen on the same team. Their names are Mark Grudzielanek (2B) and Doug Mientkiewicz (1B).
When Skip Carey, radio announcer for the Atlanta Braves, was informed of this particular feat, he noted wryly, "oh, that'll bring 'em out for the games."
Everyone has to have something to brag about.
Our company had a great first quarter so they sponsored lunch for the entire company provided by The Varsity. They show up in a grungy truck and hand out greasy chili dogs and hamburgers and fries. Yum.
Three chili dogs with onion and mustard, a plate of fries and a Pepcid later, and Matt is a happy camper.
http://www.thevarsity.com/
This will be a very straightforward post, because I don't feel like dancing around the subject.
Quit hitting your kid.
I don't care that he is a maniac.
I don't care that she screams in public.
I don't care that you feel embarrassed.
Get over it.
Get over yourself.
Relax.
Count to ten.
Take the kid out of the situation.
Distract them.
Learn better parenting skills.
Get yourself into anger management.
Quit hitting your kid.
I was at a restaurant tonight with my wonderful wife and our four month old baby. Aside from being the biggest kid on the block, he is an angel. We shower him with love, affection and attention and I think that is 100% the reason he is such a good kid. He fussed a little before the meal arrived, and it wasn't any big deal. We expected it, it was almost his bedtime and I knew that if I just held him close, rocked him a little, he would be easily soothed.
I was right. We pay attention to him, we meet his needs and then some. He went to sleep and there was nary a peep from him the rest of the meal. I brag, I know, but I am a proud father.
Of course our boy is more portable than most -- he is still only four months old, and a nap is almost like party time to him, so getting him to fall asleep was no challenge.
But the fact of the matter is that if he couldn't be soothed, and he screamed his head off, it wouldn't ever cross my mind to smack him the way the lady next to me smacked her son tonight.
Quit hitting your kid.
It seemed to be her birthday dinner. Accompanied by her husband, their three kids and one set of grandparents, our restaurant neighbors were enjoying their dinner. As the evening wore on, the kids were allowed to get up from the table and weave in and out of the chairs, under the table and through the aisles. This was allowed to persist until the mother reached her end. She reached behind her to grab who she obviously thought was the worst offender, jerked the thirty pound kid up by his shirt collar into swatting range and spanked the boy.
I barely noticed that the kids were fooling around at the table next to me. It might have had something to do with the great food, the wonderful company, or the engaging conversation we were having, but I think it has a lot to do with the fact that I have kids. Since Big Sis showed up on Planet Earth almost two years ago I don't bristle at the sound of whiney, screaming kids. Not anymore. It's like her arrival changed my tolerance towards kids being kids. Lucky for Big Sis.
Since the kids weren't bothering me, (and as far as I could tell weren't doing anything they weren't already allowed to do,) corporal punishment and child abuse just didn't seem to be necessary in this situation. And in this shameless, public way that mother punished her kid, I don't think that she agrees with me. I am sure that she felt it was the right course of action for the situation. The way the kid cried, I can't imagine how it could have been.
Why do you have to hurt your child?
Why do you have to humiliate your child?
How can you be so unfeeling?
How would you like it if someone who weighed six times your own weight smacked you on your ass? Can you imagine a half-ton gorilla chasing you around whenever you did something wrong? You probably won't do anything wrong ever again, right? Maybe so, but I am sure you would think that there is a better way to teach that.
Quit hitting your kid.
Find the better way. Its out there. It may not be the easy way, but it's worth it.
Not long ago I tried to call my sister on her phone but the number was disconnected. I just figured that no one told me that she switched services or that she's now sharing a line with her boyfriend. No big deal, I'll find out what her new number is eventually, right?
In the true spirit of this blog, I just found out that my sister was mugged recently. It happened a few weeks ago I guess, I still don't have the whole story.
The part I heard goes something like this: on the way home from my friend Archie's sister's birthday celebration, two hoodlums rode up on bicycles to my sister, KB, and her friends. They ripped KB's purse off of her arm and rode off with it.
There were witnesses, but none who responded to her pleas for help. She called for people to help her stop the two robbers, but no one would assist her.
KB is, to my relief, safe and sound. She has replaced her phone too, so I expect her to call me and explain this entire event to me soon.
Details to come.
Speaking of Archie...
I am playing him in my fantasy baseball league this week. Gateway Archrivals vs. Scooby's Snacks (that's me). Wish me luck! ...I'll need it.
It took a few years, but my mower finally died.
My father-in-law delivered this push lawnmower to our house a week after we moved into it back in 2003. A brandless mower with a Briggs and Stratton 4HP engine, it was the epitome of a no frills lawn tool. No bag, small deck, but it cut the grass so how can you complain, right?
It was his back-up mower even then, with miles and years of wear on it. The choke no longer worked, so on cold days you really needed to negotiate with it. It wasn't quite dead back then, but it was close. Frankly, it was Undead. This mower, beyond all my estimations lasted through three hot-lanta summers. It cut all the weeds in my lawn indescriminantly, just like any old blade of grass.
Good mower. Nice mower. DOWN MOWER! DOWN!
Here we are in 2006 and I haven't mown my lawn yet. Not that I haven't tried... my zombie mower has just decided to not run for more than 4 seconds unless you kneel down by the discharge and continually press the primer bulb. Yeah, that's safe.
So, fueled by the embarrassment that is my yard, I headed to my computer to do my research. I was able to quickly list out all the features I needed and some of the thinks that would be "nice to have". I shopped as many home and garden websites as I could and decided that, for everything I wanted in a mower, the Sears Craftsman series would be in my budget.
I wanted a mower with a 21-22" deck, side discharge, rear bag, 6.0+ horses and a 12" rear wheel. I knew exactly what I wanted. Of course I checked out the Snapper, Toro, and John Deere models, but paying $600-$800 for a lawn mower just wasn't high on my priority list. Sears would have to do.
I mentioned my decision to a friend who immediately panned Sears. Actually his words were, "Are you kidding? Everything at Sears sucks."
I said, "but it's the Craftsman model."
"Yeah," he says, "that's what I mean. Sears sucks. It all breaks. You are wasting your money."
Interesting. If you ask anyone over the age of 40, their opinion of Sears is completely the opposite. Reliable, effecient, cost-effective. A company that stands by it's products. Even if you have a problem, they take care of it.
Ask someone under 35, and you get the same response my friend gave: don't waste your money.
What happened to people's opinion of Sears? Sad really. I am right at that middle age where I could go either way. I don't think that the Craftsman product is the best on the market. But I think that it is the best for the money. I remember Craftsman products in my Dad's workshop, and I remember reading the Sears catalog as a kid.
When I think of Sears, I think of a true American company. I think of my parents, and how I look up to them. I think of the times I have shopped there in the past and received a fair deal and good products. There you have it; that's where I am shopping. Boy I hope that mower was made in the U.S.A...
Anyway, Easter Sunday came and it turns out the mall is open. The store was probably running short-staffed and it probably worked out in my favor. I navigated the store to find the row of lawn mowers, picked out the one I wanted and was ready to buy. Even better, the model I wanted was on sale for an extra 30$ off. Perfect.
I tackled an overworked salesman and he rang up my mower, handed me a receipt and shooed me off to the "merchandise pick-up" department.
It turns out that they didn't have any more of the mower I paid for. As an apology for not having what I already purchased, the manager upgraded me to a model that cost 30% more than what I paid. I got all the features I wanted except one (the side-discharge), but in addition I got a self-propelling mower. Neato.
The best part was I didn't have to ask for the compensation. He just offered it. He made it easy.
Thanks Sears. I'll be back. But first, I am gonna tell my friend about how I made out like a bandit.
In just 75 days, this page has received another 1000 visits! That's 13 visits a day! Ok, that's not that much. Some days are better than others.
A lot of the recent traffic has been due to the Fantasy Baseball 101 articles I have written. People are always looking for an edge when it comes to this pasttime, and the internet is one way to get it. I hope my articles were helpful. Find them here: Rookie, Draft Strategy, Stadiums, Draft Strategy II, and The Market.
I still get a surprising number of hits because of people looking for info on "Nobody Jeans", which sends people to my "The Decline of Western Civilization" article. I also see a lot of people searching for "Dehydrated Water". Funny.
This past weekend I experienced my third tornado since moving to the Deep South. This was, by far, the closest call.
When I first moved down here, within the first few months we had a tornado touch down pretty close to where I was living. It wasn't really that close -- I was never in any danger, but I had a great view of the town, and the storm, below my apartment on a hill. I was amazed by the color of the sky, the noise of the storm, the force of the wind. I was drawn out to the deck to watch the funnel cloud in the distance, but I couldn't see it. Friends watching the story unfold on the television threw a fit when they found me outside standing alone in the storm. I didn't realize how dangerous the storm could be.
During that same Spring, on a long drive home visiting my Wonderful Wife while she was working in Raleigh, I got caught in a flash storm. On a long stretch of empty road I found myself barely able to drive 10 miles an hour because the rain was coming down too hard. I was acutely aware of the green colored sky and scanned the radio for news of the storm. What I could hear through the static of an AM Radio station confirmed what I already knew to be true: a tornado was near. As the hail started to fall I finally found the shelter of a gas station's roof. Feeling brave, I got out of my car and headed into the store for some snacks. Sideways falling rain had be soaked before I made it to the store's entrance.
I still haven't had a bad experience with a tornado, thank goodness, but this weekend was a lot closer than I ever want to come again.
I spent the past weekend at home with only Little Sis to keep me company. My Wonderful Wife took Bubba to San Francisco so that they could attend the wedding of one of her best friends. Little Sis and I had a great time all weekend, but that is another story all together.
At 3:30 AM on Saturday morning, the tornado siren went off. It was a complete coincidence that I even heard it -- earlier that night I decided that it was warm enough for the first time this year to open the bedroom window. I am a pretty heavy sleeper, but that sound woke me up. I didn't exactly remember what the siren was for at the time so I dozed off. A few minutes later I sat straight up in bed when I was awakened by the familiar sound of hail. I remembered what the siren was for. The wind was picking up, noisier than I remember the usual thunderstorms being. It was actually so loud that I felt my heart race a little.
Calm down, I told myself, what is it that I have to do here? Go get my kid.
I quickly entered her room and scooped her up in my arms. As I was turning to head downstairs, I stopped and grabbed her sock monkey. I am not sure if I grabbed it for me or for her. I gave it to her. Still (mostly) asleep, she hugged it instinctively, and I held her tightly with both arms.
Down two long flights of steps to the basement. Don't fall, don't fall, don't fall.
At the bottom of the basement staircase I stood for a moment listening again to the sound of the wind pushing against my house. The noise of the tornado was getting louder, closer. I look around for a good hiding spot and decide that the best spot is actually at the foot of the staircase, where both corners of the basement are fully below ground.
The lights flickered once and went out. Not great. Losing power made the storm feel even closer. As if it was an answer to my failing nerve, the lights came back on. We are going to make it.
We live in a twenty-year-old house. It is a great home, lots of character, and not outdated feeling since we changed some of the paint and removed all the wallpaper. With some of the updates we have done, it is sometimes easy to forget that it is that old (with all the recent development in the area, twenty years is ancient). This storm made the house sound weak and thin. It was as if that house was at the chiropractor and the storm was cracking every old bone in the house. The wind was relentless and it rattled walls and windows for twenty long minutes.
Then, without flourish, the storm quieted down to where I could barely hear it over the quiet rainfall.
With Big Sis still (mostly) asleep, I loosened my lock-grip on her and stood up. Exhausted, I carry her up the stairs back to her room. Laying her down in her bed, her eyes immediately flip open. "Watch Tee-Vee?" OK, kid. Whatever you want. I am too spent to argue.
I brought her into my room, set her in the middle of my huge bed, resting her head on thick king-size pillows. She looked tiny under the enormous down comforter. "Watch Tee-Vee?" You got it, kid. But it's gonna be the Weather Channel... hope you don't mind.
Five minutes later, forty-five long minutes after I had first heard the siren, the T.V. was turned off and we were both quickly asleep, safe out of the path of the storm.
