EWWW! Is that your clean car I smell?

This morning on the way to work, my driving activity was distracted by a yellow light on my instrument panel. Fuel light.

I pulled into the gas station next to an empty pump. While stepping out of the car I reached down and tugged on the fuel door release handle. The fuel door swung open like a baby bird's mouth eagerly waiting for its mother to regurgitate a throat full of worms.

The crisp air was refreshing and enhanced any sort of smells or scents in the air. I could smell the exhaust of cars passing by. The sweet, tangy smell of a nearby elm tree. I strolled up to the pump and stared at the one armed cyclops. It coldly stared an unblinking glare back as if it was looking through me at some distant object. Emotionless and robotically it demanded I swipe my card.

I have been through this routine a few times. At first I would stare in unbelief, which melted away into rage as I watched the dollar amount rocket way beyond any figure I considered fair price for a tank of gas. Then I developed a detached and blank stare. I assumed the pump might not get as much satisfaction out of its heist if I seemed indifferent. It didn't seem to get any more or any less joy out of sucking my bank account dry.

Now I have accepted the fact that I am about to exchange an empty tank for an empty bank account. That's life, so I better just get on living or spend my time continuously outraged. I now spend my time fueling with activities that will distract my attention. I wash the windshield. Check the tires. smile in the side mirrors to see if there is any broccoli stuck in my teeth or wander around the car looking for change, so that I don't feel completely broke when I pull out of the gas station.

I put the nozzle in the car and started the pump. The windshield had a few bugs splattered on it. I removed the squeegee from the bucket that was mounted to the side of the garbage placed next to the pump. I took a brief glance at the pump and saw the numbers ticking by so fast I couldn't decipher one from the next. I cringed and returned my attention back to cleaning the windshield. Using the squeegee as a scrubber I scoured the bugs off of the windshield. I began to smell something peculiar. It started out faint but the stench grew stronger until it was an all out assault on my nose. It smelled like the back end of something that had just suffered some serious intestinal distress. *sniff* The back end of something - dead. Something that had been dead*sniff* - for a LONG time. I squeegeed all of the water off of the windshield and wondered if there wasn't a nearby sewer treatment plant. None that I knew of. Maybe there was something or, someone dead nearby. I checked under the car to see if I had run over something and had perhaps snagged the carcass under the car. Everything looked good.

The pump snapped off after finally deciding on some sinister amount to damage me with. I stumbled back a few steps, gulped and marched over to the pump to remove the nozzle before it decided to charge me more for a drop or two that might fall off the end of the nozzle.

The smell still seemed to hang in the air. I looked down at the squeegee dangling upside down in my hand. It seemed to be smiling back at me mischievously. I wondered what it was smiling about. I quickly tossed it head first into the bucket of water where I had found it. It merrily splashed and came to a rest. The stink grew even more foul. I could almost see the squeegee laughing out loud at me. "What are you laughing at?" I scowled as I smelled my hand - WRETCH!!! My hand smelled horrible! It was the squeegee! The water it was marinating in must have been horrifically stagnant! It must have thought this whole window washing experience was hilarious.

Ashamed and offended I jumped back in the car. But before I could close the door I heard the gas pump let out a deep and hearty chuckle. I grimaced at the pump. It was the only thing I could think to do. I pulled out of the gas station, steering with one hand while holding the offending hand in mid air not touching anything with it like it was covered in tar. I could not get to work fast enough, so that I could wash my hands.

It is a good thing I did not have a drink in my mouth. I surely would have spit it out and drenched my computer.

I still don't get it. Maybe someone much wiser than I (admittedly most people are) can explain this to me.

I received an email from Utah Power proudly explaining that I could purchase "blocks" of renewable energy. Blocks represent 100 Kwh for the unbelievable price of $2 per block, per month. The average home uses 800 Kwh, the email continued to explain and would only cost $16 a month... plus the money I am already paying for my useage to purchase these blocks.

I know they will not come out to my house and run a cord directly to a wind turbine, so my power still comes from X coal powered power plant in Podunk Somewheresville. The extra $16 will be magically whisked away in a recycled container, stopping by every tree on the way so the trees can tearfully embrace it and offer gratitude, whereby it will continue it's journey to a energy company tycoon's mansion. As it flits in one of the giant stain glass windows where the tycoon Juggernaut lounges sleepily on a throne. Richly adorned in a dark suit with perfectly aligned, thin, vertical pinstripes. a pair of brilliantly shined shoes reflecting back the world around them like two blackened crystal balls. A tuft of blazing white napkin, neatly arranged in his pocket. The suit covering his bowling ball shaped body and a tiny rosy cheeked head emerges from the suit. puffing, heaving and chewing on a cigar made of $100 bills, he chuckles heartily as my $16 sails in. "Put it in the vault... with the others!" He barks to his servant standing sentinel by the door.

The part I do not understand, the part I need explained to me is that I pay the power company to deliver energy to my house. They take that money to support overhead costs. Costs of line maintenance. Cost of administration. Cost of technical issues etc. However I assume the bulk of the assessed fees goes to buy energy sources (fuels) to make more energy that I immediately consume.

With renewable energy sources, the fuel is free. Put a windmill in a field, the wind for the most part will always be there. Put a solar collector somewhere. The sun will still come up every day.

Once the infrastructure is in place, the overhead costs are almost nothing. So where does that extra money go?

Forgive me for portraying the energy company as a rich slob. I am by no means a chain-myself-to-tree environmentalist. All of my energy reduction measures have been for cost saving measures only. I have put thought into putting solar panels on my roof and a windmill in the back yard not because I dream someday of having clearer skies and purer streams trickling out of the mountains around me... but because I dream of someday not sending a check into the utility company every month.

With this mindset, this whole notion of paying extra for a source of a renewable energy seems a little... stupid.

I pray this notion does not catch on or the next time you go to the store you might see a sign for tomatoes that are not actually there and twice as much as the other tomatoes. The sign on the empty tomato cart explains by purchasing these tomatoes, no pesticides were used, no illegal migrant workers were employed to harvest them, no fuel was used to get them to the store and they are fat, sodium and cholesterol free! By purchasing these tomatoes you are supporting the environment, America, your health, the rain forest, the rare three legged, stickle back, tree cow and your political candidate of choice! Additionally, the warm feeling in your heart from your purchase of the tomatoes and energy blocks will grow so intense, a rainbow will form around you. People will be so impressed they will just give you money! The more I ponder this notion the more I think I can actually spin this. Anyone have an extra tomato cart they are not using?

Am I a thief if I am not sure if it is theft?

At the beginning of every week I throw enough lunches in my bag to sustain my lunching needs for the week.

This week when I left for work I left under different conditions.

1. It was Walker's birthday.

2. I was meeting a co-worker at the Ogden Front-runner station at 7:00, ride the train to Woods Cross and then take his commuter car to work.

When I left the house I forgot several important items. My badge - no entering restricted areas of the hangar. My Cell phone - what if I miss the train, delayed or need to contact Joe and let him know I am late? I'm hosed! My ipod - no life sustaining, sanity keeping music and podcasts. I'm hosed again! No lunch! Triple hosed! This was promising to be a long day.

Luckily I did not need my badge for anything that day, no delays or problems getting to the train station and I managed OK without listening to anything. Disaster diverted! Phew!

However, around lunch I started to get mighty powerful hungry. Sometimes I get taken out to lunch for business related occasions. On these days, my lunches go uneaten. I thought I would go check the freezer in the break room to see if I had any in there. Right in front, in the middle of the freezer there sate a Marie Calendars Chicken dinner. I kind of, sort of almost remember buying one and I sort of remembering bringing it to work the week before, but I did not go out to lunch the week before and why was it sitting in the middle of the fridge like it had just been placed there that day?

I thought about taking it and heating it up. But then an uncomfortable scenario popped into my head where I was pulling the meal out of the microwave just as someone was sticking their head in the freezer, retracting their head slowly with a quizical look while commenting "Hey! Where did my lunch go?" There would be that moment of silence, the look of disgust in their eyes, the look of shame in mine as we both stared down at the steaming plate of chicken and potatoes. I quickly discarded the notion and returned to my desk.

I tried to concentrate on work, but my stomach began to gurgle. I tried to tell myself I could go without lunch today. That is when my stomach seized control of my legs and walked myself to the fridge, commanded my arms to retrieve the meal and then made me go stick it in the microwave. I had to heat it for three minutes, open the plastic, stir the potatoes, put the gravy packet in and heat for an additional 3 minutes. The timer on the clock seemed to go so slow that I could count to 100 between each tick of the second timer. At one point it started messing around with me and actually reversed time and started adding time back on. I glared at the clock and nervously tapped my toe and stole nervous glances at the door. At any time now someone is going to stroll through rubbing their hands saying "AGH! Rough day at work today! It's gonna make that Chicken dinner I have been saving ALL month, taste even better! Today is my birthday! and I told my wife that's all I wanted! Yep! Chicken dinner! I LOVE, LOVE, LOVE IT!!!! YUM!" and then there would be the moment of dread when they silently stood in front of the freezer staring at the fridgid void in unbelief.

Finally the meal finished heating. I scampered back to my desk like a monkey who had snatched a banana from a three year old. I hovered over it and gobbled it down as if I was nearly famished to death, like it was the only meal I had eaten in a week and a half. After I had cleaned the plate I tossed everything in the garbage to remove any obvious clues. I sat at my desk quietly listening for an enraged coworker to come storming out of the break room asking who ate their lunch. It never happened.

When I got home I found the Marie Callendar's lunch that I had bought was not in the freezer at home. It was in fact my lunch and I had just pointlessly snarfed down my own lunch and given myself a stomach ache from eating so fast and thinking about someone quietly starving in their cubicle at my expense. Isn't senility fun?!?

Walker's birthday

Tomorrow is Walker's birthday. 7 years old. I am not sure what is going on here. He is almost as old as me now. I don't even think Mandy and I have been married that long have we? WHAT? Ten years this May????

Walker is now old enough that I can easily think back to when I was his age. I can easily collect dozens of detailed memories from that age. I remember hours slowly ticked by, days were giant chasms of time. Weeks were unbearable to endure when looking forward to new events and Months fell nearly as infrequently as when the earth would shift on it's axis and lob itself and it's inhabitants out into the dark recesses of deep space.

Last Saturday we went to the Brigham City Peach Days Parade. At one point a car drove by advertising a local funeral home. After it slowly idled by, I saw someone chasing the funeral home car. It was the funeral home director. He had been handing out candy but had run out of candy and needed a refill. People started clapping for him. He smiled, waved, pointed to his car and said "It's all down hill from here!" The thought occurred to me at how great of a slogan that would be for a funeral home. "At Ernesto's funeral home and tattoo parlor we understand... because, It's all down hill from here!"

Now that I have ratcheted down the track a few miles I notice the scenery is getting more blurry, not only because my vision is probably degrading but things go by quicker. The wind is picking up and low hanging branches come at me a lot faster than I remember them.

I was getting excited to get out there and enjoy my summer this year. I ran and grabbed my beach towel and my sandals, realized I was out of sun block so I ran to the store real quick. I was immediately confronted by racks of back to school items. After I waded through the clothes I saw end caps full of Halloween candy. I was a little upset that they were breaking out the Halloween stuff so early, but when I saw the Christmas stuff on the way to the checkout stand I was irate. I thought about submitting a complaint to the store manager or at least giving him a leery look. But when I stepped outside I discovered summer was over, and most of the fall too. I stood there shivering in the brisk autumn weather next to the Salvation Army Volunteer slowly ringing a bell (Each ping of the bell seemed to mark the passing of another hour of my life) wondering what just happened... and where the Hell did I park?

OK Guys! Time to fire up your power tools! We got some territory to reclaim

** WARNING** I will be saying some stuff here in the next two posts that will have you wondering about my gender orientation.   I will explain it ALL, if you just read to the end. 

I like to cook.  I like to sew.  I like to vacuum and clean and I like to do the laundry (except folding).

There are some very specific reasons why I enjoy these activities and I think as a gender and as a historically gender specific roles, I think we men have missed the boat on some very entertaining activities.  As a gender we typically engage ourselves in smashing, hitting, exploding, burning, demolishing, and creation activities.  We historically and typically like to hunt and shoot things and build things like houses, buildings, cars and airplanes.  We like to club things and hit things and smash things.  We like to shape things and mold things and transform our surroundings.  Best of all, if we can use a power tool we will invent one that does the work for us or invent a use for a power tool.  (do I hear a Tim Allen "argh! argh!" there?) 

Why do we like to do what we do?  Why do I spring out of bed at 4:00 A.M. on a cold winter's morning when it is storming outside?  Not because I like to be cold and wet.  Not because I like getting up early.  I like using a power tool.  A snowblower that effortlessly lofts the snow dozens of feet away and off of my driveway and leaves neat, carved banks in the snow around the driveway.   Why do I like mowing the lawn.  Not because I am into yard maintenance all that much.  I like using a gas powered lawn mower. Typically, guys like using grinders, welders, sanders, air nailers, power saws, electric drills and power washers.  Because it involves... POWER tools, right?  

How is vacuuming much different than mowing? True,  the vacuum doesn't have a gas engine on it, but if it did, I would bet more guys would vacuum.  Sewing machines are amazingly complex, have lots of shiny parts and mechanisms that work harmoniously together to create things.  I learned to sew for a very manly reason.  I was re-upholstering my car.  Sewing is much like building a house.  You follow a pattern (sometimes) and use various materials, fix them to each other to create other things.  Sewing doesn't have to be about making dresses and pajamas.  It can be making a holster for your chrome plated .50 cal desert Eagle, or making a spike studded leather coat for yourself for when you are on stage playing in your death metal band or making your superman costume for your comic book convention... if you are into that sort of thing (which I am obviously not). 

Cooking.  We like to club the food and drag it home.  When did we stop cooking it into something tasty? When did... OH!  I answered my own question!  The french ruined it! The ruin so many things, and they have ruined cooking for men.  But look guys, cooking has so many cool tools you are just going to have to look past the creepy and strange sounding french words that litter the art of cooking and intimidate you so.  For example, food processors and blenders.  How did we miss out on a household appliance that has a button labeled "liquify"???  Where else can I take a solid substance and put it in an appliance and it liquifies it? Got your interest? Yeah! how about open flames!  Burning, skin searing oil that with one false move could seriously disfigure you?  Sound tantalizing?  How about mixers with so much torque they could take off your fingers or yank your arm from the socket?  a device in you sink drain that can chew up and ingest everything from watermelon to chicken bones. Where has all of this dangerous machinery been hiding?  In your kitchen!  I know most of you are familiar with barbequing.  Just take that knowledge inside and try it out on the range!  You will find it really is fun and rewarding!

Washing.  Come on!  It's a machine that churns and swooshes and magically turns your filthy underwear into a clean fresh smelling pair.  That's awesome!

Cleaning.  While not as compelling, there are in fact many cleaning chemicals out there that if used improperly can ruin things and if mixed with other chemicals can be very harmful and even fatal.  This one is my most wimpy explanation.  I just like simplicity and cleanliness. 

Now I realize that this may sound like the most sexist post you have ever read.  I want to clarify that I am speaking in the most general and historically gender specific household roles.  I realize that many men have discovered... as I have, these hidden in plain sight power tools that can be used with just as much recklessness and just as dangerously as we do the power tools found in the garage. 

Now, on with the sexism! I was planning on reserving these thoughts for another post, but here goes!  I also still think you women have absolutely lost your minds.  You are crazy!  All of (well most) of you!  I still don't understand how you can look at a hairy, stinky, sweaty, crude, basive, carnal, rudimentary and slow witted people that we as the human race classify in the Male gender, and say to yourself "Oh!  He's cute!"  Whenever I hear that, I squint, rub my eyes and blink a few times to see if I am not seeing clearly.  I will just have to agree to disagree, because I see exactly the opposite. 

Home improvements to home decoration

I had the opportunity to go to Lowe's to pick up some lumber today.  

I forgot it was a holiday until I pulled into the parking lot and saw it unusually full.   

I don't know if it was the holiday that brought out a different crowd of patrons than the usual. The usual being (at least in lumber) :

The seasoned pro - Usually male.  Typically adorned in well worn work boots, tattered, stained and sometimes ripped jeans and a t-shirt that usually displays a logo of either a tool company or building supply or home builder on it.  The pace is brisk.  He's been here a thousand times before.  He knows what he needs and where to find it.  He has an account at the contractor desk that he is going to bill this purchase to. 

The weekend warrior - Most often pudgy from working a desk job.  knows somewhat about building.  knows generally what he is looking for.  Might not know the exact location, but knows the general vicinity of products.  May stop occasionally to browse products he has not learned about.

The bumbling bafoon - (This is the one that scares me) This guy has no idea.  This guy is the reason I have a warning on my toaster that tells me not to insert a fork.  This is the guy trying on a pair of safety glasses and testing them out by hitting his face with a chisel.  I can see in his cart he has a 6 pack of duct tape, a nail gun,  a 250 ft roll of 10 gauge electrical wire,  a chainsaw and an over the stove microwave.   For whatever reason he is examining a sheet of corrugated steel and is asking an associate how fire proof he thinks it is.  Thankfully the bafoon is rare and none of them live by me, because I am sure their house is on the constant verge of blowing up or burning down, by about a dozen independent "projects".

Today I noticed a new crowd in the lumber department.  This is the zealous husband and the concerned/bored wife combo.  I don't know if they are sparse enough that I have never noticed them before, but today I couldn't even find a lumber cart because the area was FULL of them.  I had a GREAT time observing.  Here we had the husband eagerly plucking items off of the rack and tossing them on the cart.  He scampered from one rack to the next picking out the best pieces he could find and returned to the cart with his prize.  His eyes were bright and sparkly.  He was like a squirrel unleashed in a nut factory.  hurriedly dashing around excitedly picking out his hearts desire with reckless abandon.  Meanwhile the wife stood guard over the cart.  Her eyes were vacant and glazed.  Absolutely bored by the entire situation.  She had no clue what her hubby was up to.  Didn't know how this was going to make a shed/spare bedroom/entertainment center.  Occasionally she would blink and life would return to her stare and she would scowl at the cart, mentally calculate the cost and attempt to set torch to her husband with a death inferno stare.  He was so busy scurrying he did not notice and she would slowly melt back into the lifeless zombie slowly pushing the cart.  (I have been a member of all four of these categories)

I was amused by this crowd because I have seen a very similar crowd at Tai Pan Trading co.  (OK, I have outed myself.  I admit it!  I shop at Tai Pan!  I enjoy it! It is fun and they have cool things there.  I can assure you that I am not... as they say... limp wristed, light in the loafers, root for the other team.. etc.  As a profession, I am a glorified graphic designer.  I see interior design as the same thing.  The combination of shapes, colors, textures and patterns to create something nice to look at.  I don't see why graphic design is an acceptable male past time and why interior design is not.  So there!  I have said it!)  At Tai Pan I get the addition of watching wives drag around their husbands.  Even if you are not into what they sell there... go there just to watch these men.  It is GREAT!!!  Very similar to the aforementioned  scenario except roles reversed.  The wife is flittering from one item to the next talking in near ultra-sonic bleeps and blips "OH HONEY!"  she chirps "Isn't this cute????"  He stares vacantly back, eyes half mast.  "Yeah" he says. It sounds a lot like a cow saying "Moooooo"  He is hunched over leaning on the cart as much as he can without it rolling away from underneath him.  If he could lay in the cart, he would, because he is already asleep.  NOTHING here is of ANY interest.  His wife could say anything and he would mindlessly repeat something that sounds good.   She could say "Honey!  Let's go to the dealership and buy that new convertible Mercedes I have been eyeing!"  and he would say "Sure".  Generally when the other men in the store spot me pushing around a cart without a wife leading me and I am the one picking out items they look at me like you would expect them to glare at a dude who just showed up to a biker rally wearing a pink boa and high heels and called everything "Fab-you- lussss!!!"

P.S.  This blog brought was fueled by a Double Western Whopper.  Not sure why, but I have been craving Burger King after years of not eating anything from there.  I know the meat is probably ground up eyeballs and boiled floor scraps.  I know each item on their menu has enough sodium, fat, calories and cholesterol to sustain me for the rest of my life.  I know that as soon as I eat the burger my blood pressure must rise as my blood thickens to a gooey margarine like texture.  I know I can literally see myself becoming fatter with each bite.  I know the food isn't that good.  I know that each burger removes a good 6 months off the end of my life.  But, somehow when I put all of the negatives in one column and the fact that I just want to on the positive column.  Somehow they add up and the single item on the positive side adds up to more.  

They put jalepenos in the burger.  It's delicious!