Thanks, Ray.


Ray died today.  He was a great guy. Witty.  Clever. A master craftsman. He was thoughtful. He was a good listener. He was a great teacher.  Here’s a collection of my Ray memories. I know that I will be reminded of more in the coming days as the people that knew Ray gather to celebrate his life, so hopefully this list will grow.  Feel free to leave your Ray story in the comments or email me at holyjuan@gmail.com.

Ray was the first one to tell me about the 270 Rule, which was what ever happened outside of 270, stayed outside of 270.  While we never did anything that was 270 Rule worthy, it was always nice to have that in your back pocket.

Ray once told me about how he and a group of guys outsmarted the hotel room refrigerator.  In the early days of the convenience refrigerator, the hotel would put a plastic strap around the door handle.  If the strap was broken, housekeeping knew to take note of how many bottles of liquor or macadamia nuts were missing. So Ray and the guys unattached the refrigerator from the wall, pulled it out and took off the back. They ate and drank their fill and put it all back together.  I assume that someone a few hotel stays later had a lot of explaining to do.

Ray always sent out clever links from the internet.  Most people don’t know how to do that. Ray did.

I once had to make a relief map of Australia.  I asked Ray what I could put on the map for the mountains.  Ray said to use Bondo because Bondo sticks to everything.  Two days later the Bondo was not sticking and I asked Ray what was up. He said, “What kind of material is that?” I said it is paper coated plywood. It’s called signboard. Ray said, “Oh, Bondo won’t stick to signboard.”  Ray!!!

I’ll never forget the look Ray had when a co-worker was cutting material on the table saw.  A strip of material got wedged in the blade and then shot backwards, slamming into Ray’s tool chest about 9” away from Ray. Without flinching, Ray slowly turned his head, raised his eyebrows, looked down and then when right back to work. That dent is still in his tool box today.

Ray was always able to help. During busy days in the shop, he’d be helping one person and there would always be someone else hovering in the distance, waiting their turn. He was a wealth of knowledge about so many woodworking topics and tools.

Ray once named once of his dogs Doug. I like to think that it was because of me.

Back at the old COSI, Ray hung a sign over the smallest closet in the building that denoted it as my workspace in the shop. It was actually the maintenance hatch for Jeb, the coal miner in COSI’s Coal Mine exhibit.

Ray told me that the only shop machine that can used to make itself is the milling machine.  I wasn’t listening, so I thought he said the lathe.  I spent years arguing with people on the road about the lathe being able to make itself.  Years later Ray was sure he hadn’t said lathe.  “Are you sure I didn’t say milling machine?” Maybe?

Ray did not have every tool in the world, but with the tools he had, he could get the job done. He’d also make tools when he didn’t have the right one.  We have one now in the shop that I refer to as the “Ray HDPE Scraper Thingy.”

I consider myself lucky that Ray’s son called me when things began to look down. The family allowed me to come over to see him, but we all knew it was to say goodbye. I didn’t know what to say. So I saddled along beside him and said that it was Doug. And he smiled for a moment, the way Ray smiled. All I could say was, “Thanks, Ray.” Then I left.

I will miss Ray, but the things that he built have been and will continue to give happiness to kids for years to come.  The lessons he taught will be passed on. He will never be forgotten.

And I’ll think of Ray, tooling around at his work bench. Trying to make something that had never been made before or fix something that someone else hadn’t made quite right. His back would be to the room and I’d pop in and yell. “Ray!”  He’d turn around and sarcastically say something along the lines of, “Oh, great.”  But we both knew how much out friendship meant to each other.

Love you, Ray. You’ll always be with us.  


Fake Dispatch Is Killing HolyJuan

The first rule of blogging is to not call it blogging.
The second rule of blogging is to not talk about your blogging habits.
The third rule of anything is that you are supposed to repeat the first rule and make it the second rule.

I wrote something like that a few years ago. A smartassed tutorial about writing on a website. I have never been good about listening to my own advice. 

This is a story about how Fake Dispatch is killing HolyJuan.

About 18 months ago, I began a character on Twitter called Fake Dispatch. I leveraged the 500 or so followers from my HolyJuan Twitter account to get Fake Dispatch up and running. Pretty soon, Fake Dispatch also had 500 followers. And then 1000. Then 2000. I started off making up fake headlines about Columbus. My audience grew outside of 270, so then I started in with material more suited to the whole of Ohio. Soon after that, I realized I had a nationwide audience. Over 10,000 people following me. To someone like me whose ego runneth over, this is strangely addicting.

The problem with Fake Dispatch is that he siphons many of the ideas that would have gone into a HolyJuan article and squishes down into a 140 character post. Back in the old days, I would have a crazy idea about something and figure out a way to turn that into a 300 word post. A simple idea like, “Band Names from Willie Wonka All Used Up” would be thought through, run through the computer, edited and posted. Now if I have that idea, I figure out a way to squeeze that down into 140 characters. It’s much quicker. It’s much easier. It’s pathetic. Most of the best HolyJuan posts were individual ideas that were built up. Many of the ideas I started out with would evolve into something else. Something else better. Now that does not happen as much. At all.

Now Fake Dispatch will link to old HolyJuan posts as they become relevant. People think they are hilarious. Each link to a HolyJuan article contains the date it was originally posted. Dates of 2010, 2007 and back to 2006 are a testament that I've been HolyJuan a lot longer than I have been many other things.

But will Fake Dispatch kill HolyJuan? I don’t think so. Fake Dispatch is faceless and soulless. HolyJuan is my voice and has a heart, even though I can come across heartless. I think the two can live together. I'm not promising anything, but I'm hoping that I can guilt myself into being more than just Fake Dispatch.

Follow Fake Dispatch on Twitter at this link: https://twitter.com/#!/Fake_Dispatch You know where to find HolyJuan. Hopefully you will continue to find me here.

AUTHOR’S NOTE: During the writing of this article, I wandered away and posted these two Fake Dispatch posts. I lack focus.

BREAKING: Local man does not own Skyrim, so he's doing and then quitting heroin so that he knows what it's like.

BREAKING: By 2005, Al Queda knew they couldn't hurt the US by force, so they went to marketing school and now they torture us with TV ads.

Hairs Did

Here's @Freckledjenn and I getting our hairs did at the Cbusr/614 Magazine meet up at Local Bar.



Boots

I recently found it necessary to purchase a pair of boots.  Construction site rules.  So I bought a pair of boots.  When I got on site, the boots were new enough that they captured the attention of one of our vendors who happens to be a good friend.  He said that I should scuff the boots up so that they didn’t look so new.  I said, that reminds me of a story…

When I was 19, I went from working at Baskin Robbins to Hanning’s, a roofing company in Lancaster, OH. My sister’s ex-boyfriend had worked there over previous summers and said it was hard, but rewarding work.  So I applied and got a job.  They said, “Wear old jeans and boots.”  I didn’t have boots, so I went out and bought a pair.  The boots glowed with newness and I thought that I would look like a punk kid if I had new boots on. I went into the yard and scuffed them up on rocks and grass to make it look like I had worn them for a while.

I showed up for work in my old jeans and seasoned boots. The foreman took one look at my boots and said, “Did you rub grass on your boots?”  I said, “No.”  He said, “It looks like you took a pair of new boots and rubbed grass on them.”  I said no again, but I might as well have told him yes.

22 years later I finish telling our vendor that a pair of boots is more about what is on the inside of them and a lot less about what is on the outside of them. 

He didn’t believe it for a second.

Not that it means anything, here are those boot at the end of my first summer as a roofer.


And here they are in 2006 when I finally retired them.

Here’s to my new boots. They’ve gone though a lot in their first month. Everything except grass stains.

Hotel Electricity

I don't know much about electricity, but this is what I found when I went to plug in my phone charger at the hotel. If you don't see it at first, look at the black plug.
If you want to know the truth, this was the alarm clock and I didn't want to try and figure out how to set the clock, so I left it plugged in like this.

No carry on

For the first time ever, I am at the airport, awaiting to take off, and I do not have a carry-on bag. My mind still thinks I do because I keep looking for it every five minutes. All I've got is my wallet, my Droid and a 2000 mile long extension cord. This Droid 3 is very nice, but it chews right through the battery. I've got it plugged in now, but I can see the airport lights dim everytime I hit a key. I'm assuming that when I do not have a signal or when my battery dies I will be sad, but until then, I will continue to keep looking for the bag that is sitting at home all alone. Two-sack is going to be pissed because I also left the most recent Donaldson book at home. I was supposed to have read that six months ago, but have not made the time. I'm sure he won't mind, seeing as the book is big enough to be a carry-on on its own.

Bathroom Sign

We recently moved into new offices. There was a sign already in the bathroom when we got there saying that the door should be locked. I thought it needed a friend.

Star Wars Fan?

I assume the creator of this ad on Facebook is not.

As found on Facebook.

Kit's Pelotonia Fundraising Campaign

My friend Kit is raising money to cure cancer by riding in the Pelotonia.  Here's a personal email from Kit that he sent to our group of friends that he never thought would wind up on the internet.


"I have an opportunity for you guys.  I'm going to give you the chance to donate to my Pelotonia fundraising campaign.  I have it on good authority that our own hometown OSU James Cancer hospital will be finding the cure for cancer this year.  They told me, though, that they can only do this if they get some donations from the midnight mountain club in Lancaster, Ohio.  I know, it sounds crazy, but that’s what they told me.  I offered to donate on your behalf, but they said that it had to come from you guys.  They also mentioned that if they don’t get the money, that the University of Michigan will definitely find the cure.  I’m not a huge Buckeye fan, but I would hate it to go to the state up north.


I’m going to donate, and I think you guys should as well.  It just so happens, that I have signed up for the Pelotonia, so you can easily donate to my ride, 100% of which, will go directly to the James.  I checked to make sure this method of donation would actually cure cancer, and they said ‘yes’.  Here’s the website: 
Just in case that didn’t work, here are some other reasons to give:
·         You’re not a pussy.
·         Donations to Pelotonia are tax-deductible, you cheap bastards.
·         Donors get a year’s worth of good feelings from me, and a thank you card.
·         You can come down to Athens and party while I’m humping my bike for a 100 miles.
·         You’re not a dick.


Anyway, I look forward to seeing you guys in Athens on August 20th


Love,
Kit"


You can also support Kit by purchasing a "Kit Peery Bike T-shirt."  I get $5 every time I sell a shirt, but I'll donate that to Kit.  Go here to buy a shirt: http://skreened.com/holyjuan/kit-peery-s-bike-shirt.



Hotel Room Fun

Want to have some fun while staying in a hotel?

First, find the hotel room pen and paper:

Second, write a list on the pad. Make sure you press down hard.

Last, tear the top sheet off and leave the pad behind for some Sherlock to find.

There is such a thing as a bad milkshake

For my birthday (well, it was on my birthday) a few coworkers decided we should have a milkshake taste test. Seeing as we are not located in the culinary mecca of the city, we only had a few places to choose from so we did the best with what we had. We tested chocolate shakes from:

Steak and Shake (chocolate and Hershey's Special Dark)
Burger King
Wendy's
Dairy Queen


Steak and Shake Chocolate

The Steak and Shake chocolate was a very good chocolate shake. There was an even chocolate taste and it felt like real ice cream. Some comments included, "light chocolate taste", "really good" and "thin."

Burger King Chocolate


When we took the lid off the Burger King chocolate, we were confused. The shake looked white. An initial taste seemed to suggest that there was a light chocolate taste, but that it was underwhelming. Our only guess was that it was white chocolate and that BK got the order wrong. We tucked in and it was complete crap. Comments included, "marshmallow fluff," "cream" and "poor white chocolate." Oddly enough, one of our testers actually enjoyed the taste. I have to assume he hates chocolate. Fortunately he did like this shake because while finishing it off, he discovered what the problem was:

It seems the way Burger King makes their shakes is to stick the chocolate in the bottom, add the neutral milk shake liquid and then mix it up. It seems that they forgot to mix this one up.

Steak and Shake Hershey's Special Dark

The Steak and Shake Hershey's Special Dark shake was also tasty, if not a bit too chocolaty. It had a similar texture to the first Steak and Shake shake. (remember this: Metro Station - Shake It) One taster has problem with the froze chocolate chips being disconcerting to eat with the smooth shake. Other comments included, "smooth," "a bit too chocolaty" and "rich."

Frosty Chocolate Shake

Let's get one thing straight. A Frosty is not a shake. A Frosty is a frosty and I don't want to delve into religious beliefs here, but I assume that if there is a heaven, there are Frostys there and if there is a hell, there are none.

That being said, Wendy's felt the need to shame the Frosty by offering shakes. I did think for a moment that if you took a Frosty and let it melt a little, you'd get a shake. I've never eaten a Frosty slow enough to see it melt, so I was a bit curious. Maybe this might be delicious.

Wrong.

The Wendy's Chocolate shake is terrible. Too chocolaty and not smooth. Other comments included, "madness" and "worse than a Frosty."

The can only assume that this chocolate shake idea came out after Dave Thomas died or right before and it killed him.

Dairy Queen Chocolate Shake

Expectations were low for the Dairy Queen chocolate shake. I mean, it's Dairy Queen.

We were wrong.

The Dairy Queen shake was delicious. Smooth, a great chocolate taste. The classic chocolate shake. I realize that the Dairy Queen shake may not be hand dipped and mostly processed, but it was an awesome shake.

In the end, the Dairy Queen chocolate was rated highest and the Steak and Shake chocolate came in a close second.




And just so you are aware, the guy who thought the BK shake was delicious had all his votes thrown out.

Shake shake shake shake shake it.

Taco Bell and White Castle Burrito

A few hours ago, Fake Dispatch was extremely hungry and posted the following:

When I got home, I decided, "Why the hell not?" I loaded Greg and Ann into the van and we headed to White Castle.

Thanks to my Reddit Secret Santa, I had a White Castle gift card.
$5.88 and a sack of 8 Sliders later, I ended up at Taco Bell. There I purchased a bean burrito, and chili cheese burrito (I'm sad they don't call it chilito anymore) and a beefy melt burrito.

At home we unloaded the bags.

And unloaded the contents.

I bought two extra White Castles for the kids to eat. Ann was not impressed by the smell.

Greg was in heaven!

I knew that I was going to need to stuff these Castles in the tortilla shells and I didn't know how well they would take the pressure. Instead I took some waxed paper and rolled the Castles up nice and tight.



I took the beefy melt burrito and revealed the OH MY FUCKING GOD IT'S HIDEOUS!

Pro Tip: Don't ever open your Taco Bell.

I inserted the White Castles...

and folded it back up.

I cut it open to reveal the unnatural bond of burger and burrito.

And then I took a bite.

I'm not going to lie to you. It was delicious. It was DELICIOUS! The red sauce and the rice with the soft bread and oniony, steamy burger... it was really tasty.

Greg liked it, too.

Next was the chili cheese burrito.

Ann tried this one.

While she didn't like it, it, too, was really good!

Finally we tried the bean burrito.

Sadly, the bean burrito was not at all good. The fresh onions did not mix well with the steamed onions and there was an onion gang war in my belly.

Overall, White Castle and Taco Bell make an awesome combination. If you have some wax paper and a wife that only threatens to kick you out of the house for stinking up the place (wait until 3:00am) then I suggest you try it!

Father's Day gift tips

What NOT TO GET your dad for Father’s Day

1. Soap on a Rope (unless he’s in jail)
2. The DNA test (let’s just keep that between Mom and the Fed-Ex guy)
3. Anything with the word “soy” in it.
4. Used scaffolding
5. Beer in amounts more than 39 ounces
6. Rocking chair
7. Old Spice
8. Elvis anything
9. Chalk or anything that is written on with chalk
10. Lie detector

What TO GET your dad for Father’s Day
1. Carbide
2. Gift certificate to Scores or The Landing Strip
3. A tie (it’s back in this year)
4. Bacon, 1 pound (raw or cooked)
5. Anything that starts with Nintendo or ends with Box.
6. Anything salted
7. Bribe money
8. Fortified wine
9. Dashboard hula girl
10. “How to Pass a Lie Detector Test” book/pamphlet

O-blah-ma

A conversation on Facebook. He deleted his comments, but I knew he was going to so I took a screen shot.

Click image to see huge-like.

Who's In Charge Here?

I've worked in the museum business for a good chunk of time. For a while, I was a traveling exhibit manager, which meant I got to work with a lot of different kinds of technicians, temp laborers, electricians and union workers during the set up and installation of the exhibit. I know what it is like to be a punk kid asking people that have been on the job longer than I have been alive to get work done. Usually I just kill them with kindness. You need to have these people on your side as they can make your life a holy hell. Bring them doughnuts. Don't let them get away with murder, but manslaughter is OK.

So years later I was told this story and shat my pants.

We were bringing in an exhibit to a museum. The exhibit came with a set up coordinator. I had been taking care of the arrangements to bring the exhibit in and had been in constant contact with them. Our museum used the same crew of people for exhibit set up and tear down and they are awesome. There's one guy that runs all the workers and they are efficient, know the building, ask the right questions and get the job done.

When the exhibit arrived at the loading dock, our team of installers was waiting for instructions. The exhibit set up coordinator went down to the loading dock and walked into the group.

"Are you the set up crew?"
Yes, they answered.
"Who's in charge here?"
The man who always runs the crew said, "I guess that would be me."
And the coordinator said, "No. I'm in charge and don't you forget it."

Holy shit. That's the biggest douchebag move on record. Sure you make an impression, but come on.

Of course, in the back of my mind, whenever I go somewhere and am in charge of set up, I love to ask the question, "Who's in charge here?" The labor always wonders why I laugh after saying it.

Happy Birthday CD101

Our local radio station, CD101, is turning 21 years old. I can remember when they first came on the air. The are an awesome independent, alternative radio station. Thinking about this reminded my of my trip to Shreveport, Louisiana.

In 1994, I had a job that was going to have me living in Shreveport for four months. Coming from Columbus, I was worried that I wouldn't be able to get my fix of alternative radio. I wasn't even sure that the South had alternative music.

It was a Sunday night and I was driving to Shreveport. About 40 miles outside of the city I was flipping through the radio stations when some 1994 alternative song came on. I couldn't believe it. I don't remember what song it was, but it was followed up by another alternative song. For the next half hour, great alternative song after song came on. Maybe the South wasn't so bad after all!

About five miles out side of Shreveport, the DJ came on and said, "Well, that wraps up another solid hour of alternative hits. We'll see you next week for Alternative Sundays!"

And then something Richard Marx came on.

Happy Birthday CD101!

Fake Dispatch in (614) Magazine

I have a Twitter account called Fake Dispatch. Fake Dispatch is actually more popular than HolyJuan and I need to get over that.

Recently, Fake Dispatch was interviewed in a local magazine called (614) Magazine.

Here it is! Click the photo to embiggen.

Quitting Outlook 2010

It's almost like they don't want you to open it.

Thanks For Not Being Dead Yet


(AUTHOR’S UPDATE:  Ray was alive when I wrote this. Since his death, I’ve felt bad about how I wrote it.  I think it was my way of dealing with his illness by being aloof. So, I decided to edit it. Then, I decided not to. Then I decided to do a little of both and add this little explanation at the top, but not change anything below. I think Ray appreciated it at the time, so we’ll leave it be.)


I’m not sure if there is anything called a Thanks For Not Being Dead Yet, but I’d like to start it.

Dear Ray,

Hey Ray! Thanks for not being dead yet. I’m sure you really would have little control over whether or not you were dead, but that is beside the point. You are not dead and I’d like to let you know that I am very happy that you are not.

I met Ray years ago and we I immediately clicked. And when I say clicked, I mean he immediately took advantage of the fact that I was an overconfident 23 year old dipshit.

When I was a traveling exhibit manager, Ray would come out on the road with me and help me set up and tear down exhibits. When we were in Boston tearing down an exhibit and loading it on the semi trucks, Ray told me, “Doug, go down stairs, follow this load plan and pretend like you know what you are doing.” So boldly I went down stairs and with four union guys and the semi driver standing around I said, “Let’s get this truck loaded!” The driver said, “What are we loading first?” With sweaty palms I looked at the load plan. I flipped it around in my hands and mumbled. Then I studdered. The driver said, “Hey, what’s that guy upstairs name?” I said, “Ray?” The driver said, “Go get Ray.”

I went upstairs and sheepishly said to Ray, “They want you down stairs.” Ray saw that I was beat and left without berating me. He called me down later to show me how the truck was packed and how to deal with asshole drivers and how to listen to union guys bitch and not to worry about it.

A week later, Ray and I were in Omaha setting up the Science of Sports exhibit. We were out to dinner with Martin and while ordering food, Ray ordered what I wanted to order. I changed my order because of the Food Poisoning Theory. Ray and Martin asked about the FPT and told them that if you are in a situation where you cannot afford to have everyone go down with an illness, you must order different food. Ray and Martin laughed. Four hours later Ray called me from his hotel room. He was doubled up with cramps and food poisoning. He blamed me. I can’t blame him.

When I think of Ray, I think of him in front of a lathe, turning a piece of metal or plastic, with the stringy bits curling off into a pile of the floor. I think of Ray with a Guinness and a story about living on a commune or something awesome that one of his kids has accomplished. Ray always has a solution to a problem. It might not be the one you want to hear, but it is probably the right one. Ray was always able to follow up any of my bullshit with a similar statement of bullshittery. Ray always listens to good music. Sometimes there are bongos and I can live with that. Ray has a great laugh. Whenever I needed a tool, I'd ask Ray for it. Ray would then ask me what I was trying to do and I would tell him. Ray would then hand me a completely different tool and show me how to use it. Ray would help you to hide a body or help you to find a body if you needed one to hide.

And I will never forget when Ray told me that he was happy that he and I were going to get to work together again.

Here’s to you Ray. Thanks for not being dead yet.

Karen and Calvin and Hobbes

Years and years ago, my little sister thought that it was important enough to cut out two Calvin and Hobbes comics and put them on poster board for me. I was in college at the time and thought it was nice of her.

Click. Get big.
Now years later, when I want to write something that rhymes, I find myself always writing to the last line of the poem in the first comic.

"Tomorrow's what I'm waiting for,
But I can wait a little more."

It's perfect.

And when my kids call for me to go outside, I can't help but think of the second comic when I feel the urge to tell them to let me finish my really important computer crap that won't mean squat years from now.

"In ten years they won't know I'm here,
as things like cars and boys appear,
But I'll have left them with a slight
Of love my sister did requite."

Thanks, sis.