you really don't want to know

This past weekend, I bought a lift for working on my motorcycle. It’s barely more than a glorified car jack, but it’s got a nice wide platform for jacking, and straps with which to secure the bike, so it doesn’t go toppling over in a stiff wind. I’ve gotta say, so far, excellent investment. It’ll allow me to accomplish tasks I would otherwise have to pay a shop to do, and it’ll basically pay for itself In just this one round of maintenance tasks. That said, this friggin’ bike is way overdue for just about everything, so this is likely to be a ‘spensive bit o’ work.

I’m sure I’ve mentioned it before, but this is my dad’s bike. My brother, sister and I gave it to him for his retirement. Anyhow, the thing means a lot to me, and I feel like shit for letting the tires go as long as I have, going as long between oil changes as I have, etc. Now’s the time to strip it down, lube all the splines, change all the fluids, replace all the seals, and generally just polish the thing up.

I’ve also got a bit of desire to give the body panels some fresh paint, remove all the scratches, scrapes, pockmarks, etc., but part of me also knows that’s not likely to have been my dad’s course of action. I mean, if he had been a bit younger, there’s a distinct possibility he would bid on a good-condition set of body panels in some nice color, if such a set were on ebay, but who knows? In terms of preserving something my dad treasured, I’ve got a feeling my brother and sister would not approve if I were to change the color. And…would I want to? I don’t know, but I’d kinda love to restore the thing to near-showroom condition, in his honor.

One way or another, taking the thing apart and formulating a plan for maintenance has already been a good experience, very different and much more…Dad-oriented…than my previous automotive-tinkering endeavors. Kinda zen-like. And I haven’t even read the book.

When I was a wee lad, my mom would occasionally bring me with her to my sister’s dance lessons. She was four years older than me, but she was still just a little tyke in her little leotard, stumbling around like the rest of the girls. Most of the songs they danced to were stuff like The Everly Brothers, but I’m pretty sure I recall that one of the songs they danced to was Cecilia by Simon and Garfunkel.

Think about that for a minute.

This is a picture of my cat. He’s hiding. From balloons. Wednesday night, I left work a little early, and went to get some flowers and balloons for Valentine’s Day. The plan (which worked beautifully) was to leave them in the car until Liz went to sleep, and then bring the balloons and roses into the bathroom, where a) Liz would be pleasantly surprised in the morning, and b) the cat couldn’t eat them overnight. He’s that sort.

The thing is, the balloons are the big ones. You know, the ones that are each larger than most of your family members? Yeah, those ones. I joked with Liz, saying that part of the beauty of this gift is that she gets to imagine me standing in line at the store, holding these three gargantuan balloons like a doofy, lovestruck retard who might fly away if his shoes aren’t stout enough.

I knew I’d have to keep the balloons away from the cat because he has a tendency to love string/ribbon/what-have-you. And by “love,” I mean “eat.” So, once Liz’s surprise was a done deal, I figured I’d be safe if I anchored the balloons to the top of the closet door, and let them float up to the ceiling, out of the cat’s reach.

The thing is…the cat seems to think that these particular gargantuan balloons are aliens from outer space, come to suck his miniscule brain out through his eyesockets. He didn’t tell me, but I’ve just got a feeling that’s what’s going on in there, because he’s got the most undeniably frightened look on his face at all times. And no matter where in this tiny apartment he is, he’s constantly looking around corners to make sure the balloons haven’t advanced.

Yesterday I mentioned to Liz that I should move them, get them out of his sight, do something. I could tell she’d thought of it, but I think she was hoping the cat would man up and get used to it when she said “nah, I’d just leave ‘em right there.”

I think now I’m gonna have to take pity on the poor little guy. He doesn’t even want to eat, and that’s fucking astounding. He’s thrown up at least once because of nerves. He hides under the couch, which is exactly where he never goes. His usual hiding spot (in the little alcove behind the entertainment center) is apparently not “sensory deprivation chamber” enough to wash the thought of balloons out of his puny head.

So, yeah. I think these puppies are gonna have to go. Little bastard that he is, I still don’t want to torment him…quite…this much.

Gone are the days when, if you’re a fan of A/V entertainment (music, movies, etc), you could just hook up a home entertainment center with all the cables plugged into the right places, and be done with it. Sure, it was slightly complicated when you get into the high-end A/V receivers that had a million ports on the back, but at least they were all labeled.

These days, portability is changing things. Your music goes on your iPod when you leave the house, your movies (if you’re with it) are following suit, video rentals can be done through your Xbox 360 or tv, and the entertainment center as we knew it is changing.

In my entertainment center, I’ve got: a cassette deck I received for Christmas ca. 1989; a CD player that was purchased with one of my mom’s social security payouts after she died; an AV receiver I bought in 2002; and Liz’s (relatively new) DVD player. Oh, and a very neglected VCR that was probably bought in 1995. Of all of it, the only parts we ever use are the receiver and the DVD player. Very rarely, the CD player gets some lovin’, but seriously, that’s once or twice a year at this point.

Lately, I’ve been transferring my music and videos to a digital library, managed by iTunes. I’d really like to set up a simple-to-use media center with iTunes at the TV. The problem is, when you start creating an entertainment center based around a computer, the limitless possibilities not only make it a lot harder to just hook it up and play, but you’ve got to figure out how to get exactly the results you want.

Then there’s the fact that, if you’ve got an iTunes library, it resides in only one place. If it’s on your computer ( the place where you sync your iPod), then you’ve got to have your computer switched on whenever you want to use your media center…unless you want to copy your stuff over to the media center, in which case you’ve got two redundant libraries that can easily get out of sync with each other.

So I went ahead and installed the slim-fast edition of Leopard on an old Powerbook G4 we had laying around, and my intention is to use Front Row to access the iTunes library so we can watch whatever movies or listen to whatever music anytime we want. The good news is, in Front Row, I can select any computer on the network as a source for content. The bad news is, the computer with the master iTunes library needs to be turned on anytime you want access to that library.

What I really want to do is use a Time Capsule as an always-on network drive holding the iTunes library. My only concern is that, in order for that library to be available to the Front Row computer, an iTunes app needs to be running on a computer, broadcasting the library (the drive itself is a dumb device, it can’t “serve” anything). So I’m back where I started.

When I was young, I struggled heavily with my own awkwardness. When I encountered dudes who were witty and comfortable in their own shoes, I was always in awe. Wanted to be like them. Comfortable. Smart. Funny. Casual.

I think the reason I don’t like the FNG is because he reminds me of that awkward self I struggled so hard to shed. He reminds me of those parts of myself that were (and sometimes still are) just square-peggish. Affects me like nails on a chalkboard. Poor guy.

I once knew a girl named Maria, whose legs were hairy, who loved Camper Van Beethoven, who owned more books than I’d know what to do with, who rolled her own smokes (I wish I could remember her brand of tobacco), and who always wore a nose-ring in the shape of a tortoise. His name was Mortimer. He clicked against her glasses when she’d rub her nose.

This. This is the type’a shit I remember randomly while doing the dishes.

Yeah, not liking the new guy. He’s a young, dorky Asian kid, thick glasses, socially stunted (likely some cultural disconnect in there too), no sense of humor, way too geeky. Basically, the type of guy you lock in the basement and tell him to program to his heart’s content, and he’d create a new Google. And you’d imagine he’d like the solitude, except he’s sooooo eager to show everyone the cool new Star Trek tribute video he found on YouTube.

On the flip side, I’m really starting to appreciate the relationship I have with my boss. He’s into a lot of the same music I like, he’s got a casual attitude, he’s smart and always willing to help, and he doesn’t look at me as if there’s no way I could possibly appreciate The Beatles fully despite my years. Definite good dude. And our senses of humor have really started playing off each other, which makes this a fun place to work. He does get a little flipped out every now and again, when projects start getting hairy…but I’m good at defusing such situations.

So yeah. Dig the boss. Not diggin’ the FNG.

Guy I work with has been friends with the boss for like 30+ years. Nice guy, in his 50s, apparently he and Tim (the boss) still get together for jam sessions from time to time. In terms of web savvy, he comes up kinda short. He’s smart, mind you, but he’s just kinda not a tech guy. Type’a guy you’d get caught in conversation with at the counter of the hardware store in Bumfuck, IA.

Anyway, when I started working here, Pete had the desk up in the loft section of the office. Position of power. Overlooking the rest of the place. Nice. Several months after I was hired, we also brought in a full-time project manager, who moved into the desk in the loft, and Pete came down to the counterspace next to the kitchen. A few weeks later, he moved over to the computer next to me, but Annie uses that box to test new sites and html emails. So Pete got moved over a little bit, and migrated off the tower computer and onto a crummy old laptop.

Now we’ve got a new guy coming in, kind of on a taste-test basis, but hopefully he’ll work out and come on full-time. I haven’t decided if I like him yet, but we’ll see. He needs a place to set up shop, and the only place to really put him is where Pete’s sitting. So Pete gets moved back over to the kitchen counter…from an Aeron chair to a wooden Ikea chair.

Reminds me of Office Space. I hope he doesn’t set the building on fire.