Game Expo

October is a busy time for band parents. Friday night ball games, Saturday marching competitions, Sunday...
Wait, there's nothing going on Sunday? Well that's not entirely true...
Friends of mine run a con known as Game Expo. It's a little celebration of all things Geeky. Board games, Role playing games, miniature warfare scenarios and video games. A good time is had by all. Every year I volunteer to run a board game or two and help out in anyway I can. This is a chance to meet up with friends I don't usually connect with on a day to day basis. Even though I think the world of these people, we simply run in different circles. It's a different sort of family reunion.
There is an artist I've talked about before and I'm going to give him a plug now.
Freddy Lopez had his table set up and he was out in full force. Every piece of work he does provokes a reaction. From me, the emotion that surfaces the most is awe. He's that good. Funny, inspiring, and I just want to say; he gets it.
I have one of his works and I wish I had the money to buy all of his stuff. This weekend at the con he unveiled his latest creation, the Critical Dragon.

There are no words

Cons attract a lot of people. There are genuine artists such as Freddie, but for every diamond there are some cubic zirconias out there. Merchants who sell prints and imitations of artwork. They blot out the name of the original artist or simply claim or steal it as their own. Plagiarism at it's worst. I feel it is not only theft, but a slap in the face to the one who put in the effort that goes behind creating something this fantastic. I'd love to figure out a way to tag an artist's work and keep some low life hack from making a buck off of it.
Freddy has a distinctive style and if I ever see some street vendor selling the art as his own, then I'm going to call him out. The only real way for him to protect his copyright is for fans to be on the lookout for artwork being ripped off.
Here's a suggestion: look him up on Facebook and like his page. Get updates and get the word out on the stuff Freddie is doing. He is an illustrator worthy of following.

Truck repairs

Last week my truck blew a manifold gasket while a rain storm drenched the city. I barely got my youngest Jedi to school in time. Sadly, I limped home to call work and tell them I was going to be late. The folks at Auto Zone were more than helpful and the way they described the procedure I thought I could fix this.
Because the week was so filled with errands and running around, I only had about an hour each evening before the sun set and made it impossible to figure out what I was doing in the dark. That and I had to wait until Friday to buy the new gasket.

You know how one project can evolve into several mini projects? I put a new gasket on the thermostat as well as the manifold, a new air filter and even a new rubber tube that the mechanic experts at the store had trouble naming.

The You Tube videos I found were helpful to a degree, (The captioning sucks.) I ended up buying a repair manual to help guide me through the process. This was probably the best decision to come out of this experience.

I spent the better part of Saturday and Sunday under the hood. Cleaning, scraping, getting layers of grease off. At one point I dropped a razor blade into the just sealed manifold. I couldn't fish it out and I couldn't shake it out. Sadly, I ended up tearing the whole thing apart and started over. Even I knew I couldn't simply leave it in the engine. That means I had to buy a new gasket at 28.00 dollars a pop.

The wife unit had an idea: since I did all the hard work, and my oldest two daughters were good at putting things back together, I should let them do it while I'm at work.
To say I was a little worried would be fair. If I'm being honest, I felt my girls would do okay and things would work out.
Of course there were problems. I didn't have the manifold seated correctly and they couldn't bolt it down. They then did the next natural thing to do: they reconnected nearly everything else.
I gotta say I was impressed the fuel rods were on correctly and the alternator assembly was solidly in place. Except we had to tear the whole thing apart again to adjust the manifold.
The girls insisted I go inside and take care of dinner and make sure the little one was doing her homework.

After several setbacks, the girls are back on track. Manifold in place, things tightened down. I don't care if I don't get any sleep tonight, the truck needs to be done.
We've got lights set up and the girls are doing their best.

I am so proud of these two. They call me when they need brute strength to move or hold something and I'm going out there in a bit to reconnect the serpentine belt, but I have a feeling this is going to be done tonight come hell or high water.

P.S. We were done just after Eleven PM. Drove it around the block. My girls did great work. I'm proud of them.

Long time, no see

Summer is beginning to wind down, although you can't exactly tell from where I'm sitting. Our A/C went belly up last week and we've been toughing it out for the most part. Also semi-roughing it by setting up the tent in the back yard. My eldest padiwan ran an electrical cord out and set up the TV and her x-box. While I marvel at her cleverness, I can't help but wonder if that was time spent best. All of us have been working, running around town and generally keeping busy, only coming home at night. With temps in the house reaching the mid-nineties, I transferred all my mead over to a friends house to keep cool. It was as if I gave him the keys to the hen house, which I basically did. Then I brought out my inventory list and showed him every bottle was accounted for and not to get any ideas. His smile lessened slightly when I also reminded him these needed to age a few more months. By which time they would be back in my properly cooled house.
So just a few more days of this and we should be fine. We've gotten through worse.
The other day my mead-holding friend called me an hour before I got off work to ask for a favor. 
When you own a truck, there are two things people will ask you: 
a.) Will you help me move? and b.) Can I get a jump? I always carry two ratchet straps and a set of cables for just such an emergency. Unfortunately, I also had to get my daughter for our three times a week tutoring. About two hours of rush hour traffic later I show up, cables in hand.
The battery was dead, no doubt about it. Batteries work great right up until they don't. I wish there was a bit more warning than that. It wasn't even my friend's car. It belonged to his roommate. Adding insult to injury, my friend didn't have a wrench or pliers to remove the bolts. So, back to my house to get my tools. Upon returning, I told my friend to go ahead and loosen the bolts while I wrap the cables up. From the other side of my car, I watched him strip two bolts from the terminals. He sheared the heads clean off.
This short job just became longer.
"Righty- Tighty!" I reminded him with the most patient voice I could summon. (God, I deserved a medal for that.) Taking over for my mechanically challenged buddy, I not-so-jokingly asked him for his man card.
Three years old and the battery could only hold the bare minimum of charges: 6 to 7 volts. By the time we got back from the auto store, the sun had long set. However, the lights would dimly come on once the battery was put in. It still wouldn't turn over, even with another jump. He would have to bite the bullet and buy his roomie a new battery, there was nothing I could do for the old one.
Once home and a bit closer to my bed time than I'd like, I sent a text message to the roommate: That when the battery was bought, I would put it in and not trust his roomie with the task. What an end to a 16 hour day.
Meanwhile, I'm looking in my garage for some spare bolts that will fit and hold things together.
There are times when I don't think I have my act together, then along comes a misadventure like the one described above and I think to myself: How do some people manage to dress themselves each morning?
Because of the camp site rule, (leave it better than when you found it.) I'm considering putting a video together for my peers. 'Basic things you need in your toolbox and how to use them correctly.'

A different sort of review

When I review stuff, I normally complain about deaf accessibility. Today that isn't the case.
After a long hard week at work, I stop off at Spec's. It's a Wal-Mart for liquor. The standing rule with me is support your local businesses.
A friend owns a liquor store, I buy my beer or tequila from him. Simple, right?
But Spec's carries mead. I need to research what the other mead makers are doing in order to make my mead stand out.
There are two rules of thought there.
One: See what they are doing wrong.
Two: Make your mead stand out.

Too sweet. Too carbonated. Made with hops. The current trend is to make IPA's. Indian Pale Ales. Bitter to the point of pain. It's an acquired taste and I haven't acquired it, nor do I plan to. Just like I plan on never saying a kind word about Budwieser.

Mead made with hops just tastes like expensive beer. We can do better than that.

The selection at Spec's is small compared to the offerings from Anheuser-Busch or Coors, and I've sampled the local fare, but I'm here to talk about something else slightly different.

Guadalupe Brewing company is out of New Braunfels, Texas. Just up the road from me. I sampled the Texas Honey Ale, (A reward for a lawn well mowed.) A caramel semi-sweet ale that goes down easily.  Alcohol content came in at a whopping 7.38% 
(Remember: Texas climate is great for ales, lousy for lagers.)
Light brown and slightly cloudy, I spent my first glass evaluating how they made it. Much like a chef tastes the dish before him and deduces the ingredients. A bit of warning there: don't do that, it spoils the experience unless you are a trained chef or an experienced brewmaster.
After writing that I realize I put myself in the later category. There's no test for this other than; 'Do you make stuff that doesn't suck?'
Judging by the people who ask me when the next batch is ready and the friends who show up for 'quality control', it must be good.

The other ale I'm sampling from Guadalupe Brewing is the Scotch Ale. This is an award winning ale, 2014 and '15 Gold medal in Open Beer championship.
Slight taste of chocolate accompanies the dark brown ale which comes in at 8.17% ABV.
If hot chocolate were frozen and carbonated, this would be it.
When I bought it, my mind was on the 'Scotch' word.
Whiskey and Scotch are made from distilling beer. I was curious as to what it a Scotch would taste like after going through the entire process one and a half times. (Substitute water with Scotch in the beer making process, the results would be interesting. By interesting I mean; 'turn over your keys NOW.')
On a business note, do we really need to list the ABV out to two decimal places? I round up or down depending on reading. Does it really matter at that point?

When all is said and done, I'm back to refining what I do and don't like. 
When I was growing up, I witnessed a lot of adults drinking Bud Light. Promising myself I wouldn't be like that, I continued on to adulthood.
Generally, I found Pilsners and colorless beers to be less than useless. Didn't taste good for the buzz they gave and you had to pee a lot. If that was all that was offered to me, I would have been a tea-total-er. (Spell check won't let me spell it any other way, go figure.)

So what do we take away from all this rambling?  

Find your local brewery and see what they offer.
Get away from the colorless, useless brews.

Closing story: I was up in New England for a funeral. They serve weak, pussy beer. I'd be ashamed to serve it, let alone make it. say nothing about drinking it.
If New Yorkers are as tough as they claim to be, look in your fridge. If there is anything from Anheuser-Busch, consider your man card revoked.

Science time!

By Copernicus's ghost, who says we don't use science everyday? Or rather, we see science every day. This gives you an example of how much cardboard we use in a day's time or so. Currently my store is producing a bale of cardboard a day.

Now what happens when these torrential rains and said cardboard bale meet?

Sprong!

Expansion happens. The bales are bound with four wires of 12 gauge aluminum. The baler spits these out onto a pallet and we stack them in the back of the building where they are put on a flatbed headed for a recycle plant or something to that effect.

This happens every so often, especially after a rain storm and guess who has to re-band it? In all honesty today was a group effort. Rene and Sammi get all the credit for cleaning up that shit storm.

Oi Chihuahua, Madre a Dios, and a bunch of other stuff.

My partner Ronni and I were frantically receiving stuff behind this picture. I'm sure the paint department had some choice words for me as five pallets were broken down and available for stocking in the last hour of our shift. Not all the cardboard was soaked through, so we didn't have water leaking out as our baler compressed new bales. Well, not that much.

It could have been worse. Oh wait, it was! Why I didn't grab the picture of this, I will never know. A five gallon bucket of roofing tar fell off of a contractors truck in the parking lot. A whole case of absorbent was used to keep this stuff from spreading and making a bigger mess. We cordoned off the section of parking lot with some aisle blockers. I'm not holding my breath it stopped anybody. These are the same people who barrel (read: more than 20 mph.) on past our forklift and a truck of cement as we're unloading it. Typically there are inches to spare, I shit you not. Next time I'll take a picture, I promise. We put a bright yellow chain with a sign up across the access way, but they broke through that with little trouble. We placed whole pallets of sand and cement down. That discourages most people, but Lowe's shoppers aren't most people. A few drivers think, 'Hey, obstacle course!'

I wish that was the punch line.

One guy actually had the cajones to get out of his car (while on his phone, no less.) and demanded that I move those pallets blocking his path.

Folks, there is a perfectly good asphalt road not twenty feet from where we are unloading and it goes to the same parking lot you are trying to get to. Bonus point: my forklift won't have to play chicken with your Saturn SUV. A tiny part of me wants to see that happen. My concern for the safety of the forklift driver would be the utmost importance. My money is on the forklift and 18 wheeler carving up the SUV trying to sneak around the back of the building.

In a related note: they are bringing back that Eighties series Macgyver, this time on CBS. Let me see if I can get the link in here.

Oh my

My phone went off while I was looking for a topic to write about. Okay, I was playing Minecraft, but it frees up the memory circuits and allows ideas to enter my mind.
It was my Dad telling me he was on his way over. Normally I use the phone for text only messaging. This was a Face Time call. Do I accept the call? A little unsure of myself, I pressed accept. After all, it was my Dad.
The speakers clicked on and I heard a familiar tone pitch. If I closed my eyes, I wouldn't be able to tell what he was saying by voice alone. But combined with seeing his face, I could read his lips and put the pieces together. I was also aware that my tiny visage was shrouded in darkness. Moving to a more well lit room, the conversation continued. He didn't need to read my lips, but it wouldn't be polite to show just a silhouette. 
After I hung up, it struck me as to how communication has changed. Even more so is how isolated my channels of communication are. Not a day goes by that I'm thankful I live in this day and age. E-mail and text have been my primary means of communication. I would be a hermit if I didn't have the internet. Instead I can wish far off friends happy birthday and share in their triumphs and failures.
We are social creatures and crave the companionship of our fellow man in one form or another. Once I went six hours surrounded by people at work and not once did people talk to me. That happens a lot, but half a work day is the record.
Video calls don't cheapen the human experience, for me it enriches them.

Deja vu all over again

Try as I might, I often pick up stuff from the grocery store that isn't on the list. Today was no exception. I was supposed to get only two items, but I knew we needed coffee. The wife said we needed pasta as well. 'But what kind of pasta?' I wondered.
Knowing what was planned for dinner I made a best guess. Either I was going to get scolded or some form of admonishment from the wife, it was anybody's guess. I sent a text asking for clarification that was never returned. Turns out my youngest was using Mom's phone to talk to a friend of hers. Oh well, I made the effort. I picked up another thing that was on my mind: the latest episode of Star Wars. Later that evening after we finished dinner, I saw the DVD. Finally I could find out what was actually going on in that movie. After the end credits rolled, a lot of questions had been answered. The gaps were filled in. I guess I'm now caught up with the rest of the world.
I'm not going to go over old stuff about my running battles with movie chains, it's too much energy wasted. This whole thing serves to remind me how far the deaf community has come into being part of the mainstream world, and how far we've got to go. Fairly often I feel like a hermit or recluse. I'm a few weeks behind what everyone else is going through.

My wife is invaluable in making appointments and doing stuff over the phone. She set up an appointment with the vet, I took our sixth family member, Pepper, in to get his shot and flea medication.
Often times I have to preface conversations with, 'Could you repeat that please, I'm deaf.'
To which their response is, 'That's all right.' or, 'That's okay'.
Well of course it is. I think they mean well, no one is trying to act like a jerk on purpose. I in turn, must be patient and polite.
Never attribute to malice what can be explained by ignorance.

No one wakes up in the morning and says I want to go outside and kick a puppy into traffic. Instead, it goes more like this: I'm going to walk down the street and Nothing is going to get in my way. Certainly not that little puppy...

It's not evil, it's selfishness. Raising your leg to go over or around that innocent dog (who would more then likely lick your hand if offered. After all, it's only a puppy.) would not be that terrible an inconvenience for you.

I've noticed a common theme among people I know. Their mantra seems to be; 'I've got mine', with the corollary being screw you, get your own.
It's safe to say I don't consider these people friends. Seems a bit odd for me, considering things in my past. I generally give people second chances. A hand up certainly. However I can be a downright dick to you if you are not willing to get off your ass and waste the chance I'm giving you.

Often I have to look at my life situation and weigh the pros and cons. Usually the scale tips to the good. Things are going okay for me and mine. They could be better, but generally things are proceeding apace.  That's my problem: to put it in the vernacular, I'm chomping at the bit. I want to make more, do more. Live better. Provide for my family better. Bad things happen, I get that. I'm ready for the good news now.  The last few hands life has dealt me have been less than I'd hoped for. I need that ace to show up in my hand.