Please be aware that the video below is very suggestive and deserves to be played very loudly in the comfort of your home/apartment/cardboard box behind Starbucks with wifi reception. Not for work. Not to be shared except with me.
I like this video. I have watched it several times and have come to understand myself a little bit better because of this video. I can only hope that you learn a little bit about yourself or that you learn that I am creepy. More creepy.
Please absorb and remember to play this loud and alone:
Wow.
So here is my list of reasons for liking this, kind of in order as they appear in the video:
Great beat
Dancing girl
Pretty girl
No make up
Freckles
Clenched fist
Handjob suggestion
Eyes closed
Boob shake
Slow motion
Sweat
Awesome framing
Detail to the twisting leg
Hair stuck on lip
Crinkled nose
In the end, it's the crinkled nose that did it for me. I don't know why, but when a girl gives you the crinkled nose, it's pretty much on.
Belts and Babysitters
As kids, we had several babysitters. Three of them were
siblings from the same family. I remember disliking the oldest sister (Cathy), liking
the middle sister (Carla), and having a crush on the youngest (Darla). They probably did not
get paid enough to watch the four of us. As a matter of fact, I’m sure you will
think the same after reading this.
One summer day, while we were being watched by Carla, the middle
sister, my brother Steve and I decided to make a rope out of belts and climb
out the second story window. We attached the belts together by just taking the holey
end of one belt, and attaching it to the buckle of another belt. When we ran
out of buckled belts, we just started tying them together. We tested the “rope”
by pulling on it, and our little tug-of-war seemed to stretch the rope, but not
break it. At the second-floor window, we tied the top belt to the bunk bed that
we had slid over to the window. We threw the other end out the window and it
almost reached the ground.
This was a bad idea and Steve and I both knew it. He said I
should try it first because I was lighter. I said he should try it first
because he was taller and would fall a shorter distance if the rope broke. We went
back and forth and finally concluded that neither one of us would go first.
Instead, we decided to pull a prank on Carla.
We pulled the belt rope back up in the house, took off the
bottom half of belts, and tied them around my waist with some slack belts trailing
off. The rest of the belt rope was then lowered out the window where it now
only reached half way down the side of the house.
I snuck outside and laid down on the ground under the
window. Steve ran to Carla, told her I fell, and ran with her outside to where
I was on the ground.
I cannot remember the exact details of what happened in the
next few moments or for the rest of the day. As she put her hands on me, I
remember jumping up and saying that we fooled her. Her reaction was probably 1%
relief and 99% anger. We got in a lot more trouble than we expected and spent
the rest of the day in our room. Carla told our parents and the Atari was taken away from us, probably for a week.
Looking back, that was a pretty good prank. I think we should
have received lesser punishment due to the creativity. Of course, if my kids
did it, I’d take their phones away, probably for a week.
Dynamo
To say that
Dynamo is the greatest dog ever would be true, but Jenn and Eric know that it
is better to share the sun with others than to take it all in and cast shadows.
Let us just say that Dynamo is in a First-Place tie with a lot of other dogs.
Dynamo left
us suddenly last Sunday. He was a good boy.
But that is
not the first time that Dynamo left us. He’s quite good at it. This is Dynamo’s
story about when he died the first time. And like all good stories, this one
has a bear in it.
To ensure
that blame is not given and fingers are not pointed, we’ve changed Eric’s name
to “Bob” to protect his identity. And since the whole “Eric” thing is out of the
bag, I’ll just call Bob, “Eric,” for clarity.
Several
years ago, and many more if you were a dog, Dynamo
adopted Jenn and Eric when he randomly followed them home one night on one of
their walks. Jenn and Eric were happy to be adopted and saw many more walks and
adventures in their future together. Dynamo was completely on board with the
taking of walks and adventuring bit.
As part of
the adventuring, Eric, his sister, and brother-in-law took Dynamo camping
in Kentucky to an area called Red River Gorge. It’s a beautiful place and
I highly recommend you go and check out the rolling hills, thick forests,
dangerous cliffs, streams, dangerously steep cliffs, wildlife, and deadly-dangerously
steep cliffs. On a large, tree
covered hill, they all camped out, went hiking, and did things that humans and a rambunctious dog on a leash can do.
Towards
evening, the adults wanted to go watch the sunset and knew the viewing area was
too steep and dangerous for adventurous dogs, so they tied Dynamo up to a tree
and walked up and around and around and up to a ledge that was perfect for
not-dogs to watch a sunset. From their spot, they could still see their
campsite across the crevice and that gave them a sense of security that they could keep their eye on Dynamo and he would be OK. And as the sun does, it started to set.
But Dynamo
missed his friends dearly. They were just across the way and he wanted to be
with them. He escaped his bonds and went tearing off in the direction of his
friends. Dogs at that age only know straight lines, and in running with
blind joy directly towards them, he fell off a 75-foot cliff.
“Dynamo!”
Eric ran to
the cliff edge. There was nothing but a huge, 75-foot drop into darkness and
silence. The cliff reversed under itself and he could not see or hear any sign of Dynamo far
below.
Dynamo had to be dead.
Eric looked for a way down,
but the cliff edge ran hundreds of feet in either direction and only got
steeper as it went in either direction. Eric and friends tried calling for Dynamo over the edge in several areas and heard nothing. With nightfall fully upon them and
with a heavy heart, they headed back to camp. There was no way down from their
location to the bottom of the cliff and he would need to come in from another area of the park to retrieve
Dynamo’s body.
Eric called
Jenn in the morning to tell her the horrible news. Such an awful thing to
deliver over the phone. The three hour drive back to Columbus had to be
difficult. (Especially since Jenn’s last
words to him leaving with Dynamo were, “Don’t let him fall off any
cliffs.”) While all three of the sad humans had to get back to Ohio that
morning, Eric explained that he would head back down to the park as soon as possible to
find Dynamo and bring him back.
In
Columbus, Eric studied the back-road maps and trails to determine his best
route to go off-path and retrieve Dynamo. (Whether or not Jenn told him not to
come back if he was without Dynamo is unknown and will not be discussed outside
of this mention.) But before he could head back down, there was a bear attack on a
hiker and the authorities announced the entire park would be closed while the
rangers attempted to “take care of” the bear. No one would be allowed
in until the park was made safer by one less bear.
Days passed.
The bear threat stayed orange or whatever bear threat level it needs to be to keep a
park shut down. And they waited.
After two weeks, they got a
call from a ranger. While searching for the bear, there had been a dog sighting
by a ranger in another area of the park. Rangers went back, searched the area,
and found a dog that had about 5” of leash still attached to his collar. The
collar had a Franklin County dog tag registered to a Jenn and Eric, who were
owned by Dynamo. The registration had a phone number, and would you like to
come down and get your extremely friendly dog?
By the time
they got down to the park, Dynamo had made a few new friends, but was not
hesitant to jump out of the ranger’s truck and immediately into their
Jeep where he was quickly wrapped in Jenn’s arms, never to be let go
again.
Dynamo was a little tattered
(some scratches here and there.) A bit hungry (he lost 15 pounds.) Somewhat
tired (he slept all three hours home.) But overall, a not dead, good boy.
And he remained a good boy. He
was a good boy for so many people for many years. So many friends. So many
walks. A new little human to take care of! So many adventures. It’s hard to
have such a good boy die once, and Dynamo died twice. But that means he got to
live twice, and that is more than we can ask of any dog.
You Suck, Joe Show
It was September 15, 2001 and everyone was still reeling from 9/11. We
were standing in line outside the Newport Music Hall in Columbus, Ohio to see
David Byrne. It was his Look Into the Eyeball Tour. As we waited, a loud
religious nut, perched on a milk crate across the street, was prophesying the
end of the world. Many people in line wanted to make his prophesy come true. I
think everyone just wanted to escape for a little while. Jesus dude was not
helping.
We got inside as the opening band was finishing up. I bought a 32oz
beer, which is a great buy because you don’t have to get in line as often.
Problem is that the beer gets piss warm, so you have to chug it. Then you have
to go stand in line for beer. And for the bathroom. We made our way to the
front of the room and found a spot, stage right, back about 20 feet.
David Byrne and his band sauntered out in gas station outfits,
embroidered names and all. They played.
It was the best show I had ever seen. Still is.
It could have been the mental state that we were in or it quite possible
was the best show ever. Either way, we were all floating a few inches above the
sticky floor. I get goosebumps thinking about it.
Then at the midway point of the concert, the music stopped and Joe Show
came out on the stage. Joe Show is a DJ at a local Classic Rock station that
was sponsoring the show. For some reason, Joe Show was holding his bowling
league’s season wrap up party at the concert. He grabbed a mic and talked up
David and the band. He then started in about his bowling league and how special
it was to him.
The audience plunked back down on the sticky floor and began to mumble.
He then asked David Byrne to help him hand out bowling trophies to the
“winners” in the bowling league. He handed David a card with names on it. David
seemed slightly amused and a bit nonplussed at the whole bit. Well, it was the
Midwest. The crowd was pissed. Yells at Joe Show started. “Get off the stage!”
“You suck Joe Show!” “No mo’ Joe Show!” Add a smattering of boos and profanity
and Joe got the idea. Joe took back the list from David and sped through the
last bit of the trophy handing out. He cleared the stage, but not before
handing out other bowling trophies to David, the band and the string section.
You rock, Joe Show. Really.
Regaining composure, David jumped back into the show. In about thirty
seconds we all forgot about Joe’s self-indulgence. Again, the show rocked.
A few days later, I was reliving the story about the concert to my
co-worker, Kindra. On a side note, I mentioned the whole bit about bowling and
trophies. She suggested I write a letter to the editor of the local alternative
paper. So I did. The letter to The Other Paper went like this:
An open letter to Mr. David Byrne:
Please accept these apologies from myself and the hundreds of others who
attended your concert Sept. 15 at the Newport Music Hall. It seems that a local
radio station thought it would be appropriate to distribute their bowling
league trophies in the middle of your concert, bringing the momentum of a
tremendous show to a screeching halt.
I can only congratulate you for recovering that momentum with grace and
style, making the second half of your show even better than the first. Please
do not hold the actions of a few against the rest of us. We definitely want to
see you back in Columbus.
Doug
P.S. Idiots! Screw you Q-FM 96. And you suck, Joe Show.
I sent the letter in on a Monday. The weekly paper comes out on Thursday
and my letter was not in the editorial section. I was disappointed, but not
surprised. I had expected to get a phone call from the paper asking me if I
actually existed and if they could print my letter. And I mean really, who
cares about David Byrne anyways… Time passes.
The phone rang at 6:10 a.m. It was the next Thursday. The letter had
been printed.
(Who knew?) The call was from the morning jocks on the radio station in
question. They wanted to get me on the air with Joe Show and poke fun at him
for his antics. I said it was too early and I had to get ready for work. “How
about 9:00 a.m.?” Yeah, I can do 9:00 a.m.
Yeah! I was going to be on the radio and we were all going to make fun
of Joe Show. Hurrah! I called all my friends to tell them to listen in to the
verbal beating.
Little did I know.
Around 8:45 a.m. they called me. They quickly reviewed what they wanted
to go down. Waggs and Elliot would introduce the bit, ask me for my side of the
story and then bring Joe Show on to mock him. Easy. I waited on hold, listening
to the DJs banter as DJs do. Then I was up. They spoke about the letter in the
paper and read some excerpts. I was introduced and gave my side of the story.
We all laughed. They then said that there was someone on the phone who wanted
to talk to me.
“Doug, you are a dick.” Joe Show has a way with words.
Joe told his side of the story. He claimed several things:
1. I was a dick. (I can see that.)
2. He, out his own pocket, paid for the 60 or so bowling leaguers at the
concert. (I had accused him of using free passes that could have gone to real
fans.)
3. He claimed that there was no booing and that everyone in the audience
LOVED the trophy ceremony. (No comment.)
4. He said that the trophy handing out to David, the band and the
strings was done by him running home before the concert and gathering up 10 of
his personal trophies. (I can’t dispute this, but who the f*ck would want a
trophy with Joe Show’s name on it?)
5. He claimed that David Byrne had come up with the idea about handing
out the trophies. (Oddly enough, I can believe this. Byrne is an odd cat. My
issue is that Show should have said thanks, but no thanks. Of course,
egotistical assholes could never say no to an opportunity like that.)
And then the verbal beatings ensued. As Joe Show described his lame ass
side of the story, I tried to interject with my interpretations of his
recollections. The entire morning crew and Joe Show attacked and ripped me
sideways. I didn’t have a chance. They didn’t want to poke fun of Joe Show,
they wanted to make me look like an ass. Sadly, it worked. The volume on my
phone was turned down and no one heard my witty comebacks. I ended up looking
like someone who punched a quadriplegic in a wheel chair on her birthday.
At the end, I hung up and called my wife. She was very supportive.
“Honey, they made you look like an ass.”
Two years later during a reunion at Ohio University, my buddy Larry said
he had heard me on the radio six hours earlier. I said that was impossible. He
was positive. When his alarm clock radio went off in the morning, there I was,
talking about the David Byrne concert and how Joe Show had screwed it up. Turns
out it was a “Best of QFM-96.” Yeah, the best of. Larry said, “They made you
look like an ass.”
Sigh. David Byrne has not been back to Columbus since.
YOU SUCK, JOE SHOW!
(Author’s note: Joe Show unexpectedly died in 2016. As soon as I heard
the news, I felt bad for the resentment I held for him all those years.
Whenever I got to tell this story, I remember explaining what an asshole Joe
Show was and in my mind, what an asshole he still was. After he died, there was
an outpouring of positive remembrances of Joe and of all his work for charity
and local music. This is my opportunity to tell everyone that I was not happy
with Joe Show that night and for many years after, but that I forgive him. It
was all for entertainment, both on his side and mine. And while this story is
not a glowing memory of Joe Show, it is a memory and it is the only thing I can
give him now.)
Twitter's updated zombie-user policy
If we are notified that a Twitter user has turned into a Zombie, we can remove their account or assist family members in posting and, if possible, translating their loved one’s moans and death rattles into 280 character Tweets.
Please contact us with the following information:
1. Your full name, email address, and your relationship to the Zombie.
2. The username of the Twitter account, or a link to the last Tweet they made suggesting that they were bit and feeling ill.
3. A link to a news article or video of the Zombie eating brains.
You can contact us at privacy@twitter.com, or by mail or fax:
Twitter Inc.,
c/o: Zombified
795 Folsom Street, Suite 600
San Francisco, CA 94107
Fax: 415-222-9958
Please note that Twitter cannot fix the formatting for long Zombie words like Mmmmmmhhhhhhhhhgggggggggggggggggggg, Arrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrgunh, or Rwwwwwwwwwwrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrraaaaaaaaaaaaaaarrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrgh.
Please note that we cannot do anything about loved ones who turn into vampires. We don’t deal with that shit.
Please contact us with the following information:
1. Your full name, email address, and your relationship to the Zombie.
2. The username of the Twitter account, or a link to the last Tweet they made suggesting that they were bit and feeling ill.
3. A link to a news article or video of the Zombie eating brains.
You can contact us at privacy@twitter.com, or by mail or fax:
Twitter Inc.,
c/o: Zombified
795 Folsom Street, Suite 600
San Francisco, CA 94107
Fax: 415-222-9958
Please note that Twitter cannot fix the formatting for long Zombie words like Mmmmmmhhhhhhhhhgggggggggggggggggggg, Arrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrgunh, or Rwwwwwwwwwwrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrraaaaaaaaaaaaaaarrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrgh.
Please note that we cannot do anything about loved ones who turn into vampires. We don’t deal with that shit.
I Love Me. Who Do You Love? – The Not-So Audio Book
I compiled a number of HolyJuan
stories, postings, cartoons, and some new writings together in a book called, “I Love Me. Who Do You Love?” At the time, I thought about recording an audio book to go along with it. As part
of my work at Roto, we did audio recordings all the time. We would screen the voice
talent, and then with a recording engineer, the talent, and with me as the
producer, work together to ensure high-quality recording and to catch errors / make on-the-fly changes
to the script. It was enjoyable work, so I thought I could handle it myself by
just reading through my book with some simple recording equipment.
Oh boy,
was I wrong.
First
off, they call them “talent” because it takes a lot of practice and experience
to read well, even when it is in their own voice and not a character voice. Reading
naturally, without screwing up a word or skipping a whole line is difficult for
someone doing it by themselves. Even if you think that you’ve read a few lines
perfectly, the engineer and producer is there to catch if there were “pops” or
background noises. In a studio environment, you’ve got two people making sure
that the words are right and that they sound perfect. Being able to sit back
and have a second take on something with a few modifications might squeeze
something unexpected from everyone working together.
Secondly,
the engineer is doing several other tasks that have nothing to do with the performance.
They are tracking the takes, monitoring the equipment, catching subtle modifications
the talent can make to how they are speaking into the microphone, and then
wrapping it all up in a nice package for which I can take credit.
Lastly,
it is very difficult to produce your own work. It’s hard to massage a 5th
take out of the talent when you are the talent. There are missed words. Missed
paragraphs. No direction from a 3rd party. And after trying to get
one passable chapter complete, all you want to do is have a drink before moving
on, and drinking while recording a downhill cheese wheel chase of compounding
trouble.
I tried
to record my book. I borrowed audio equipment from Hugh. Prepped my file
folders. Booted up the Adobe Audition recording software. And promptly gave up
after the first three chapters. About 75% of my recordings had the word “shit”
in them when I recognized I had screwed up a word. Literally every recording
would need an edit in the middle. And even when I thought I had a perfect
recording, I’d catch a pop or slurred word. I was miserable, realizing that I
am the laziest perfectionist in Ohio and the book would never be recorded without
paying for an engineer, a producer, and studio time.
When I
returned the audio equipment to Hugh, I explained my predicament. He knows a significant
amount about recording and couldn’t help but agree. But in that sad discussion,
we came up with a great idea: The Director’s Cut Audio Book – Now With 100%
More Alcohol Consumption.
Here’s
the pitch: I read and record my own book. I use at home equipment. If I want, I
drink beers before and during the recording. I read without stopping for simple
errors or I call out when I’ve glitched. If I want, I add commentary. I read
the comics. I describe the photos. It is story telling of my stories. You buy the
audio book knowing what you are getting and buying it because you know what you
are getting.
What do
you think?
Compare and Consternation
A few weeks ago, I got a message on my Fake Dispatch Twitter account from a local publication asking if I would be interested in collaborating on some humorous political commentary. Absolutely. I went to their offices and we decided I would write as Fake Dispatch and write humorous content that would be published at their online channel. I would wait until the last minute to write these pieces so that they could be as relevant as possible.
We did a test the first week to see if my content was what they were looking for. I sent them three extended Fake Dispatch posts. Their response was that they were not looking for me to write fake news but to comment on real news. I said I would make an attempt.
For me, it is difficult to write funny commentary on real, local topics, because at some point, someone's feelings are going to get hurt. When I write something made up, there is a buffer of lies between my jokes and others' emotions. But I gave it my best. That next week, I sent them a new set of Fake Dispatch "hot takes" with real, humorous commentary.
Between that first week and the second week, something unexpected happened at this local publication where they reconsidered publishing political commentary. It was an unfortunate coincidence, but Boy was I Proud of the opportunity to try this writing challenge. They said, "thanks, but no thanks" and my work was never to see the light of day.
So here it is in the light of day! Here's what I would like to do: I'm going to post the first "fake" article and its complimentary "real" piece. The last two don't align on topic, but you get the idea. Let me know what you think.
--------
Teh Ohio State University
We did a test the first week to see if my content was what they were looking for. I sent them three extended Fake Dispatch posts. Their response was that they were not looking for me to write fake news but to comment on real news. I said I would make an attempt.
For me, it is difficult to write funny commentary on real, local topics, because at some point, someone's feelings are going to get hurt. When I write something made up, there is a buffer of lies between my jokes and others' emotions. But I gave it my best. That next week, I sent them a new set of Fake Dispatch "hot takes" with real, humorous commentary.
Between that first week and the second week, something unexpected happened at this local publication where they reconsidered publishing political commentary. It was an unfortunate coincidence, but Boy was I Proud of the opportunity to try this writing challenge. They said, "thanks, but no thanks" and my work was never to see the light of day.
So here it is in the light of day! Here's what I would like to do: I'm going to post the first "fake" article and its complimentary "real" piece. The last two don't align on topic, but you get the idea. Let me know what you think.
--------
Teh Ohio State University
Just this week, Teh Ohio State
University applied for copyright protection on the word, “THE.” At least they
thought they did. Because they allowed a graduate from Ohio University to fill
out the application, the woman accidentally put “Teh” on the application over
37 times. When asked about the error, the woman replied, “Oops, that must have
been a typo. Go Bobcats!” Legally, Teh Ohio
State University must use the word “Teh” until the matter is settled in court.
The The The Ohio
State University
Don’t get me wrong; I love Ohio State. Outsiders to Columbus
are not forced to don the scarlet and grey. (Though I think babies born at any
university hospital are swaddled in OSU blankets and receive a block O tattoo.)
But if a non-alumna does accept Ohio State into their heart, they will find themselves
invited to more tailgates, asked to go to lunch more often with co-workers, and
high-fived a lot in public. It’s either that or give in to the dark side and wear
Michigan gear. Honestly, Michigan fans should get a lot more credit than the
folks that wear OSU gear as camouflage.
I love Ohio State. But damn do they test my patience.
Originally, people insisting you say, “The” Ohio State University was just
silly. I refuse to do it. But then they go and try to trademark the word
“The?”
I think this means that if you have four people to spell out
“OHIO,” you are going to need three more to spell out the “THE.”
Well, I’m sorry to say that “The” is already taken. (A song
by the group JYJ.) And "The The" is taken by the group The The. Luckily, The The
The is available and that’s what I am going to call The The The Ohio State
University from now on. The The The Ohio State University.
And now I can’t figure out how to form the H in “The” with
just one person’s arms. You might need eight people. Shit… sixteen if you spell
The The The OHIO.
-------
Alternative Transportation
Energy
A Columbus man was injured last
night after attempting to create a perpetual motion machine by taping two
rental scooters together. Allen Mordigio Baskins, who asked that we would not
use his name, rented a Bird and Lime scooter. He aligned the wheels, front to
back and back to front and then taped the accelerator handles down on both
units. The resulting explosion generated an EMP blast that erased all the high
scores from the video games at 16-bit Bar. Allen Mordigio Baskins, who asked
that we not reveal his name, was thrown several hundred feet and landed on,
believe it or not, a Spin scooter which he then used to scoot his busted ass to
the hospital.
Electric Rental Scooters
are the Devil
In Columbus, you literally cannot swing an electric rental
scooter without hitting another scooter. By last count, I think there are 1,335
scooter companies in Columbus. (Lime, Bird, Lyft, Spin. OK there are four.) No
one says anything about it in the Bible, but electric scooters were the 11th
Plague of Egypt. (And also how the Israelites got out of town so quickly.) Scooters
are everywhere in Columbus. They are here to stay. They are the Devil.
They are
the Devil because have you seen the people riding them with sheer glee and
abandon? As they ride on the street/sidewalk/parking lots/grass/into fire
hydrants, their faces are filled with exultation. They laugh. They whoop. They
slalom from side to side. Even the people on their way to work have a micron of
an upturned lip as they whizz down the street. Anything that provides that kind
of selfless happiness can only come from the Devil. Scooters are the Devil. And
I love riding every mile down the highway to hell on them.
NOW QUIT LAYING THEM ON THE SIDEWALKS YOU PUNK KID HEATHENS!
-------
Anxious for Weed?
The State Medical Board of Ohio
committee, which is empowered to recommend what qualifying conditions would
allow residents to purchase medical marijuana, has decided against adding
autism spectrum disorder and anxiety to the Ohio’s list of qualifying
conditions for purchasing the drug. Previously, they also ruled against
allowing prescriptions for opioid use disorder, depression, and insomnia.
Currently, the only covered
conditions for medical marijuana are golfer’s elbow, injuries obtained during equestrian
dressage, and stress induced from being a State Medical Board of Ohio committee
member.
Dangerous
Intersection Remediation Underway
According to Columbus city officials, there have been 68
accidents at the intersection of Livingston Ave. and Barnett Rd. between 2015
and 2017. Columbus is throwing $1.4
million at the intersection to make it safer by modifying the road width,
adding turn lanes, and crosswalks. Folks, this is not going to put a dent in
the number of accidents. Or I should say there will still be dents, and that
number might have one, but it will still be the same number. I’m sure they had
the best intentions, but I don’t think it is going to work. You know what would
stop accidents there? A traffic circle. You drop a traffic circle in there and
I guarantee there will not be a single accident as people drive 2 MPH in the
same circle over and over and over. How do you get people to avoid accidents in
the intersection? When completely avoid the intersection. I understand that
many of the residents in Hillard over the age of 60 would gladly donate one of
their city’s traffic circles.
If It Works, It Works (Updated)
(Author's note: I've updated this story with some new revelations and photos at the end. You can skip down if you wish, but this story is good enough to read again.)
There is the right way to do things, the wrong way to do things, and then the wrong way that is the best right way you have. My favorite type of wrong/best-right is the one that comes through getting cornered and fighting one’s way out of the problem.
There is the right way to do things, the wrong way to do things, and then the wrong way that is the best right way you have. My favorite type of wrong/best-right is the one that comes through getting cornered and fighting one’s way out of the problem.
In September of 2015, a team of folks from our company traveled to Turkey
to help install interactive exhibits at the Kocaeli Science Center in İzmit. In
preparation for this trip, we thought long and hard about the tools and
hardware we were going to take. The tools were an issue due to the 220 V / 50
Hz power standard incompatibly. The hardware was troublesome because both
the metric system and we knew were going to leave the unused hardware behind
and didn’t want to blow the budget buying 100 of everything we might need. Our
recon team went out a few months early and discovered we would have no problem
buying the tools we needed locally. The hardware we would need was also available,
but our scout team said we’d need a guide to navigate the maze of hardware. We brought
the hardware we knew needed, some standard hardware we knew we might need for troubleshooting, and knew we could figure something out with whatever we could find locally.
When Alpha Team One (I know that’s redundant, but it sounds
cool) arrived, they surveyed the museum space, assisted the client to understand how
the space was laid out incorrectly, helped to modify it, unloaded the shipping containers,
and ventured into town to buy the tools we needed. AJ went with Metin, our local interpreter,
to the hardware store where AJ unwittingly became a local hero. We
needed a lot of expensive tools and AJ was a long-haired, full-bearded kid in a
candy shop. As they drove off with the van’s shocks aching under the weight of
his purchases, I imagine all the store’s employees on the sidewalk waving
goodbye with big smiles on their faces and then jumping up and down and hugging
one another once the van turned the corner. Word of AJ got around and for the
next few weeks, because he was so beardedly recognizable, seemingly random people would
yell out his name and wave to him as he walked around the city streets.
Once Beta Team Two (I know) arrived, we were fortunate to follow
in the footsteps and the path cleared of brambles by the first team. They knew how
to get around, when to drink tea, how to get food, and that any hardware run was
going to require a dusty leather jacket, a fedora, a bullwhip, a shoulder bag, a map,
and Metin. And several hours. The hardware store had hardware, but it was spread
out over three floors of their building and seemed to be grouped by some arbitrary
organization system that put bolts next to paint and nuts above the cast iron pipes.
I’m assuming the heaviest items were located near the loading doors because when
a worker tired of carrying something, it was dropped, and that became its
location in the store.
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| Metin and Keegan at the hardware store. |
Along the way, we found out that plumbing in Turkey is
different from plumbing in the United States. Aside from the metric system and the
normal issues that come from pipe/thread size, we learned that they use horse
hair and Teflon tape in many applications where we might use two correctly
sized fittings. If two pipes were not coming together as expected, they would wrap horse hair
around the threads, keep it all in place with a few wraps of Teflon tape, and force the two
pieces together like a couple in an arranged marriage.
I laughed at this until my final days on the project when I
had my own plumbing issue. Due to a miscommunication, our team had dissimilar clear
braided PVC hose pipe that came from a structure in the ceiling and needed to
connect to the house water supply on the ground. The 1” tubing from the ceiling needed a reducing fitting
that would take it down to a ½” tube. We could not find anything in Turkey that
could make this transition. We ordered the piece we needed, but it was three
days away and we had a sign off with the client the next day. Chris let me
troubleshoot this issue and here’s what I tried:
- apply various metric fittings (failed without even turning the water on)
- shove the smaller tube inside the larger tube (it fits tightly, but the water pressure pops it out, with water shooting out like a rouge fire-hose)
- shove the smaller tube inside the larger tube and use a hose clamp to compress (still pops out, water less everywhere as we were prepared this time)
- all the above and use two hose clamps (STILL POPS OUT)
I needed something to keep the tubes in place and time to do
the right thing was long past and I was almost to the point of doing the wrong thing. So I said, “screw it,” literally. I found a few
screws and compared them to the vinyl pipe wall thickness. I took the screw
with the coarsest thread and joined the two tubes together, making sure I didn’t
pass too far through. We turned on the water and the hoses stayed together. Because
the screw’s threads were far enough apart, they stayed sealed in the hose wall.
I think I covered the whole mess in Teflon tape, not to keep the water in, but
to hide our sins from the client.
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| Court and Chris working on a boiling water fountain |
Then I left the county, missing the client review (we passed the review and got paid), hoping that I would not be stopped at the border (a story for another time.)
Later, the correct part arrived, Chris cut out the offending
plumbing, and installed the proper fitting. Instead of throwing my little Frankenstein’s
Monster away, he brought it home.
This little guy now lives at my desk. It’s a trophy. If it
were mounted to a walnut plaque with a little bronze plate, I think the inscription
would say, “If It Works, It Works – September 2015”.
(But then, on a small piece of paper rolled up on the inside
and held in place by that screw, there would be a message to the curious. What would
that message say? I don’t know… how curious are you?)
UPDATE:
Since writing this article in March, I've taken a new position with another company. Last night, we had a going away party at a bar and many of my co-workers showed up to say goodbye. AJ was one of those folks and he said he had a gift for me.
The day after I told people I was leaving our company, AJ secretly came by my desk, took the "If it works, it works" hose assembly and replaced it with a decoy. You can see from the image below that the decoy was so close the the original that I didn't notice and brought it home in a box with my other desk crap.
UPDATE:
Since writing this article in March, I've taken a new position with another company. Last night, we had a going away party at a bar and many of my co-workers showed up to say goodbye. AJ was one of those folks and he said he had a gift for me.
The day after I told people I was leaving our company, AJ secretly came by my desk, took the "If it works, it works" hose assembly and replaced it with a decoy. You can see from the image below that the decoy was so close the the original that I didn't notice and brought it home in a box with my other desk crap.
 |
| The decoy - damn good! |
Just in case I did notice, AJ slipped a note in his decoy.
So last night at the going away party, AJ presented me with this:
And like I said above, "If it were mounted to a walnut plaque with a little bronze plate, I think the inscription would say, “If It Works, It Works – September 2015”.
Quite possibly the most thoughtful gift I have ever received. Thanks, AJ. And goodbye. I will miss you.
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