Oh, The Insanity

Okay, so I wasn't expecting to write another post this year, but I just had to jump on this for a quick post about the absolute insanity (at least in my humble opinion) surrounding collector firearms. Specifically, a certain one of a kind, factory engraved 100TH Anniversary Colt 1911. I first heard about this little gem about a week ago over on Jay's blog MArooned.

At that time, the bidding was topped out at a measly $25,000. As of this moment, there have been 141 bids bumping the price up to $70,475.

????

Blink, Blink.

Yes, you read that right. Seventy THOUSAND dollars for ONE (albeit pretty) firearm. That will, in all likelihood, NEVER be shot.

And, it won't stop there. There is a little over 22 days left to bid on this little treasure. I feel confident in predicting that the bidding will go well over $100,000 for this piece of history. The sad truth is that this firearm will likely not even come close to the high water mark for collectible gun prices (some idiot retard paid over $1,000,000 for a rare German Luger in .45 a while back only to later sell it for about half that amount).

Again, I have to ask the infernal question: WHY??? Why for the love all that is holy and sane would ANYONE pay that much money for a firearm that they will never shoot. As a shooter, I just cannot comprehend the thought process behind this concept. If I had the money, I'd buy the thing and make a video of me shooting it so I could tell everyone how good (or bad) it works (and to royally piss off every other collector out there).

So, to the fool out there with TOO MUCH MONEY and NO SENSE who will eventually win the auction and take ownership of this fine pistol, I have one question for you: How does it shoot?

2010 In Review

This will probably be my last post of the year as I work a full day tomorrow and Friday and Saturday are spoken for with other commitments. So, I’d like to take a moment to look back on my first full calendar year of blogging.

According to Blogger stats, I’ve had 6100 pageviews since May (about 871 pageviews a month) when the stats function came online. Of those, 2765 pageviews (45% of all pageviews) where directed at the 2010 Ford Focus SES review post from back in June. That’s almost as many pageviews for one post as for all other posts combined.

Including this post, I’ve put out 107 posts for the year. That’s an average of about 1 post every 3 and a half day. There are others out there that put out more content than I do; but, considering the demands on my life, I can’t complain. Also, my original goal when I started was about 100 posts a year. So, I feel pretty good about coming in more or less right on target.

I’ve gone from having only a few regular followers at the end of last year to having 18 officially listed followers and at least a few others who I know are out there but don’t show up in Blogger as followers for reasons that escape me. I know at least one of those folks is on WordPress, and it may be some stupid cyber tit for tat, I can’t play with your marbles thing going on. I also had an early commenter explain that some people don’t use the Blogger “follow” option instead favoring an alternative blog reader.

The content itself has been somewhat varied both in topic and quality. Hopefully I’ve made you think, laugh, groan, nod your head or some other reaction. I’m working on improving quality on my “serious” posts (those posts where I’m actually trying to put the time in to write something worthwhile). I still think I have a long way to go to reach my personal writing quality goals, but I think I’m making progress. Also, there have been some accusations of damaged computer equipment while reading some of my work allegedly caused by spewed beverages. I take no responsibility for this whatsoever. This is a read at your own risk blog. If you haven’t learned yet to set aside your beverages before reading snark infested blogs, you deserve to have your gear soaked.

Finally, after a little over a year and a quarter’s worth of blogging, I finally received my very first spammer comment today on the post just before this one. I knew that the comment moderation option would come in handy eventually. One of these days, someone is going to have to explain to me how spammers get the idea that their completely off topic comments are somehow going to get people to click on their virus infected links. Of course, having worked in insurance for long enough, I know that there are plenty of stupid people in the world and stupidity is compensable (and not always for the stupid person).

I hope you’ve all enjoyed the ride so far as much as I have. I think it was Spider Robinson who wrote that shared joy is increased and shared pain is diminished. I look forward to sharing another year of increased joy and diminished pain with you all. Be safe. See you all in 2011.

Which Would You Prefer?

My mother's favorite mind game is "Which would you prefer?" Usually, the target of this mind game is some poor unfortunate soul who has just committed something monumentally stupid and now has to face their choice of consequences. It's not unlike being told to go out to the tree and pick out your own switch.

My all time favorite victim so far was the history teacher in junior high that busted me for having a water gun at school. Apparently, my "arsenal" of water guns was discovered after a hall monitor got soaked. Not sure how that happened, but I digress. Yes, this was long before the zero tolerance policies, and  I'm pretty sure the entire incident went down right in front of the Plano PD officer who was in the hall with nary a raised eyebrow. Nevertheless, the teacher was really hoping to make my life miserable by calling my mom. Her amazing plan backfired when mom gave her the "which would you prefer?" options which I no longer recall but which I'm pretty sure involved keeping a job or not as I was able to promptly reclaim my "arsenal" from a disgusted teacher with a smirk on my face and a vague promise on my part never to do it again.

Anyway, I have found that "which would you prefer?" has other applications in life besides allowing fools to choose their own fate. It also applies to purchasing decisions. I'll give you an example of one I am contemplating right now.

I have, for a very long time, lusted after a 1911 style .45 ACP semi automatic pistol for my real arsenal. Since I am not independently wealthy, my options are limited to the lower end of the vast see of 1911 options. I have narrowed my potential choices to three candidates with which we now get to play "WHICH WOULD YOU PREFER?"

Option Number 1: The Taurus PT1911. Manufactured in Brazil. Imported via Miami, FL. Lots of cool "custom" features at an entry level price. Notoriously bad customer service and warranty repair. Someone let the lawyers loose on Saint JMB's Authorized Version. Real new (less than 5 years) to the 1911 market.

Option Number 2: The Para Ordnance GI Expert ESP (which stands for Enhanced Service Pistol). HQ in Toronto, Canada. Imported via North Carolina. The ESP is a basic 1911 platform with a few of nice enhancements (beavertail grip safety, skeleton hammer, fiber optic front sight).

Option Number 3: The STI Spartan. New-ish, employee owned semi custom shop focused on the 1911 based in Georgetown, Texas. The Spartan is a step up from the Para Ordnance ESP as it has nice wood grips, an adjustable rear sight, front and rear slide serrations and a few other nifty neatos. STI is also featured prominently in Larry Correia's Monster Hunter book series.

So, which would you prefer? The "cheap" Brazilian lawyered up knock off with questionable customer support, the every so polite French Canadian or the STI made by God fearing, proud, conservative Texans.

With all the talk about supporting your local economy, I plan on making my 1911 an STI Spartan if I can find a good deal on one.

Surprise, Surprise...Semi Fail

Okay, The Queen is finally awake. As mentioned in the comments on the previous posts, The Queen's sleep schedule has been out of whack for a while now due to her mystery illness. It doesn't help that she's a light sleeper, and I went to sleep an hour early last night after getting only three and a half hours sleep the night before due to being rudely awakened in the middle of the night and not being able to get back to sleep. When I'm exhausted, I sleep like the dead with a bad case of chainsaw snoring. The Queen is a light sleeper. So, she usually chooses to sleep elsewhere when I'm Zonked of the Dead.

To make a long story short, The Queen finally got back into our bed at about 8:30 AM this morning and didn't wake up again until 2:20 PM. I got back from helping the niece with her car woes at about noon meaning I've been bouncing around trying not to wet my pants waiting for her to wake up. I even resorted to asking my mother in law to MAKE noise in the kitchen (right next to the master bedroom) instead of trying to keep quiet.

Anyway, here's the set up. Queen sleeping soundly under layers of blanket in the king sized bed. One vase with a bouquet of pink edged white roses and some other pretty lookin' flowers with white, pink and other colors (I'm a well rounded person, but my knowledge of horticulture pretty much ends at "Hey, that's a rose."). Vase strategically placed on the desk in the corner of the master bedroom (on her side of the bed) so that (hopefully) it would be the first thing The Queen sees when she gets up. We'll get back to that. Framed wedding photos strategically placed in front of the master bath toilet to be admired as The Queen takes care of her morning constitutionals (yes, I know it sounds weird...just go with it). We'll get back to that in a minute too.

So, finally, after an hour and a half of waiting to hear a squeal from the other side of the house, I finally get word from the MIL that The Queen has stirred in her chambers. Not having gotten a call from The Queen expressing her delight at the flowers before exiting the bed, I had to go investigate. I found The Queen in the shower. I nodded at the photos, and she asked, "Did you do that?"

Not exactly the response I was looking for. Slightly underwhelming.

I informed her that, yes, I was responsible for the photos.I then asked if she had seen her other surprise. Her response was a timid, "Um, what other surprise?"

Partial Fail.

At that point, I brought her the flowers which did elicit an awe struck "WoooOOOOWWWWwwww!". It was at this point that I learned that she did not see the flowers in her bleary eyed, semi conscious, just awaken, no glasses/contacts state. I can forgive her for that. I probably should have thought to place them in the bathroom with the other items to give her brain a few more seconds to boot up. I also learned that she had to do a double take upon being seated on her throne as she was not sure she was really seeing the photos. She told me she wasn't sure if they were from me as her mother sometimes does stuff like that for her but then thought better of that as she wasn't sure her mother would remember that today was our anniversary.

The good news is that The Queen confirmed that she was completely clueless about my behind the scenes efforts to produce a surprise for her. The Queen has chastised me several times before for giving away too much about a surprise. The fact that there is a surprise coming is apparently giving away too much about the surprise to The Queen. Given my upbringing, it is very hard for me to keep a lid on a surprise. I have always enjoyed dropping hints and watching the recipient go nuts trying to figure out the surprise. I get that from my mother. The Queen, on the other hand, likes the surprise to be complete and total. No hints. No nothin'.

According to her, I succeeded this time. I almost blew it the other night after discovering, while trying to pay for the photo CDs, that I had lost my debit card. I called The Queen to see if she had it or if it was lying on my side of the bathroom counter of something. She didn't locate it but offered to bring hers to me. I told her that that was not necessary, that she hadn't been feeling well, and that it was no big deal as it would only take me a couple of minutes to swing back by the house to get hers. It took a little convincing, but she finally agreed to stay put and the surprise was saved.

Barely.

Happy Anniversary

Seven years ago today, The Queen (some would say foolishly) said I do when the minister asked her if she would take this goofy guy to be her lawfully wedded husband. We've enjoyed our share of ups and downs, and I fully expect us to share many more for years to come. I still love her with all my heart, and I can not imagine being married to another woman.

I have learned something though. When you work from home, it is REAL hard to plan a surprise anniversary gift for the spouse who also is a stay at home person. There's only so many "Hey honey, I've got to go run an errand for work." opportunities to go around. If something throws a monkey wrench into the works, you are really going to have to get creative. 

Case in point, I've been trying to skulk around this year to accomplish something that The Queen and I thought was a great idea seven years ago when we got married but never got around to doing since. Instead of having a guest book at the wedding, we decided to have a couple of photo frame mattes out with various colored markers for people to sign. My nephew who was all of 8 years old at the time scrawled "H. is a dork". Great. The plan was that we'd get some prints from the wedding to frame with the mattes and have our wedding photos/guest book on display for all to see. 

Seven years later, we still hadn't gotten around to it yet. Our wedding photographer was a great guy, but he hadn't made the transition to all digital yet. So, for the last seven years, I've been carrying a binder full of negatives around in addition to the wedding album. No CDs, and print film is quickly going the way of the dinosaur.

Working in the commercial claims, I was leery of leaving my only set of negatives with a store to transfer to CD; but, what's a hubby to do. I reluctantly handed them over; and, a day later, I had me four freshly minted photo CDs with our wedding memories now in easy to use digital format. 

I selected 10 of my favs to be printed as 4 x 6s plus one of The Queen and I dancing at the wedding to be blown up to 8 x 10 and trotted off to a digital friendly photo center on an excuse/errand of the moment (returning DVDs to Blockbuster) only to have Murphy strike. I arrived to the photo center to be greeted by a sign that said "OUT OF ORDER". 

Well, poop. 

I didn't have time to locate another photo center on that errand. So, I had to amend the plan. The updated plan involved me sneaking out of the house this morning before The Queen awoke to get the photos printed, run back home, get them set in the frames and have them set up in the bedroom before The Queen arose from her beauty sleep. Then Murphy called again. 

Oh, monkey fungus. 

The oldest niece's car would not start, and I was the closest person with any mechanical know how in the family. So, I had to trot off to Mansfield (about 30 minutes from Castle Erickson) to figure out the automotive dilemma de jour. It turned out to be a dead battery. Fortunately, there was a photo center suitable for my purposes on my way back to the Castle. I printed the photos I needed proceeded to jet back to the castle with a brief detour by the local store's floral department for a suitable arrangement of roses and other flowers all the while praying that The Queen would not be awake yet (the evil plan called for her to awaken to fresh flowers and freshly framed photos). 

Sliding into home, I returned to find The Queen still slumbering. I madly framed the photos and set them up with the flowers. Now, I just have to wait for her to wake up.

Holy fungus monkeys Batman.

That is all for now.

Testing, Testing...One, Two, Three

A week ago Monday, I took the LSAT for the first time...and, hopefully, the last time. I think I have sufficiently gotten over the trauma of taking the test to tell you, my loyal followers, about the experience. For the uninitiated, the LSAT is the Law School Aptitude Test. Supposedly, it represents a fairly reliable indicator of one’s ability to succeed in law school.

The test is broken up into six sections: 2 “arguments” sections, 2 reading comprehension sections, 1 “analytical reasoning” section (commonly known as the “games” section), and the writing sample. All the sections but the writing sample have between 23 and 27 multiple choice questions. All sections have a 35 minute time limit for completion.

For the mathematically inclined, that means you have less than a minute and thirty seconds per question to read the question and any applicable argument, game parameters or reading passage, evaluate the answer choices and make a decision. If you are a slow reader or have other learning difficulties like dyslexia, you are boned. Gruesomely.

To make it even more of a mind game than it already is, one of the “arguments” section is an “experimental” section in which the test creators test out new questions. The experimental section does not count to your score, AND they don’t tell you which one is the experimental section. Surprise. You get to waste 35 nerve wracking minutes helping the sadistic maniacs create a more diabolical test, and it won’t help you get into law school in the slightest.

The multiple choice sections could probably best be described as exercises in trying to create the bed time stories for the love child of Sherlock Holmes and Spock. For instance, a typical argument question will involve you reading a paragraph anywhere from three to 10 sentences long, a question and five multiple choice answers of varying lengths depending on the question type. I would really like to write a humorous, fictional argument section question to insert here for your amusement, but it’s making my brain hurt to try. Reading comprehension section questions are even more fun. You are given a section of 50 to 60 lines of material organized into five or six paragraphs to read on a variety of subjects (one of the subjects on my test was about the Latina autobiography as a literary genre…exciting stuff). Once you’ve slogged your way through that stimulating prose, you get to answer five to seven questions on various esoteric concepts covered or implied in passage. The worst section, in my opinion, is the games section. You start out with a set of incomplete parameters typically involving at least two variables (for instance, airline flight arrival times and domestic versus international arrivals) for which you have to organize and then answer a set of five or six questions (flight A arrives before flight B but after flight C; what time does Bobby get his omelet?).

The writing sample is a whole other exercise in self flagellation. You are given a simple, two sided issue for which to take a position and write an argument. They give you a two sided sheet of wide ruled paper to write your argument. You have 35 minutes to review the pros and cons for both sides of the issue, outline your position on scrap paper, and write a grammatically correct and legible argument using nothing but a No. 2 pencil and whatever you have lodged between your ears. The kicker is that there is a better than average chance that no one will ever read your writing sample. According to the LSAC, the organization that administers the test, every law school you apply to gets a copy of the writing sample; however, the preparation materials I worked on to get ready for the test suggested that only those applications that were “borderline” candidates stood a chance of having their writing sample reviewed by the folks in the admissions departments.

In the preceding paragraph, I mentioned availing myself of some professionally produced review materials including the Princeton review book and a book of practice tests which were actually previously administered tests. A lot of people I talked to suggested taking a full blown prep class; however, I just didn’t have the time or excess cash flow to put into it at the time. How helpful were they in actually preparing me to take the test? Overall, I would have to say they gave me at least half a clue as to what to expect and how to approach the test. Without the preparation, I probably would have been flopping around on the floor in a full blown, foaming at the mouth seizure.

The one thing that the prep materials could not help me with was actually taking a test under real test conditions. Sure it’s easy to sit down, set a timer and rock through a section. If you live alone. On a mountain top. With no modern communications equipment. If you live in my house…ha. I tell people I’m studying. I tell them I’m trying to time myself. I tell them I need to not be interrupted. What happens? The phone rings. Someone yells at the deaf, 94 year old. Someone walks through and asks, “K. how’s it going?” ARRRGGGHHH!!!

I should have had a loaded gun on the desk with me so that I could shoot anyone who interrupted.

So, despite all that, I felt like I at least had a decent grasp of how to approach each type of section as well as individual questions going into the test. It’s possible this was a delusion of monumental proportions on my part, but I’m choosing to hold onto that fantasy a little longer. At least until the test scores come in.

Anyway, The Queen and I agreed that it would be the pinnacle of wisdom for me alone to go down to mom’s house the night before to get a good night’s sleep, get some uninterrupted last minute study in, avoid some traffic and be a few minutes closer to the testing location. I woke up on time the day of the test after a fitful night’s sleep (I can sleep anywhere, but I don’t always sleep well just anywhere…plus I couldn’t get my mind to shut off). I ate a small breakfast with mom, and off I went.

The test was supposed to start at 8:30 AM, but I got to the test center at 8:00. I took the opportunity to review the notes I had made while prepping for the test one last time, breathe deep, and say a short prayer. At about 8:10, I decided I’d better get into the building where the test was going to be held, find the testing room, get a final bathroom break, and leave plenty of time to take care of the necessary administrative tasks in case there was a line.

I needn’t have worried. There were only 6 people scheduled to take the test at this location on this date: 2 women and 4 men. However, one of the guys was a no show. I really don’t get that. For what it costs to take the test, it would have taken a coma to keep me away. Of those six people, I was the first one to get to the testing room…by about 10 minutes.

In the weeks leading up to the test, The Queen would occasionally ask if I was getting nervous about it. Truthfully, I didn’t really get nervous about the test until I arrived at the testing center. It was the sitting there for 10 minutes by myself with the proctor waiting for the others to get there so we could light the fuse on this mess that got to me. My biggest concern in prepping for the test was being able to do each section of the test within the time limit, and I had too much time to think about that while waiting for the others.

Once we finally got started, it felt like high school all over again. Write you name in the spaces provided, fill in completely the bubbles corresponding to the appropriate letter, write in the test code, write out your certifying statement and sign below in your own blood. Be sure you are using a No. 2 pencil and erase any wrong answers completely. Blah, blah, blah. All that administrative mumbo jumbo dragged on for at least 20 minutes. Giving me more time to sweat the whole time element thing.

Finally, we got to “Open your test booklets to section 1….” And they’re off! Into the first question, it’s Young And Clueless fast out of the gate with Yarmulke Boy nipping at her heels. Dyslexia Man and Preacher K. set off at a steady pace with Also Young And Homely sitting on her rear. The horses are charging madly for the finish line. It’s anybody’s race. And “Time is up. Please put your pencils down and discontinue working on section one.” It’s a photo finish. Preacher K. has the stunned look of an armadillo caught in the headlights on his face, but he doesn’t look like he’s going to puke.

I was able to relax after the first section. A little. On the first 3 sections, I think I did fairly well being able to comfortably answer all the questions in the time allotted. If not having much, if any, time left over. There were questions I was iffy on, and I coin tossed on a few questions with two possible answer choices. I am pretty sure the fourth section was the experimental section based on the number of similar, crazy questions, and I didn’t get through that one as well as the other sections. By the fifth section, I was getting tired and starting to lose focus. I finished, but the last four or five answers were not well thought out. The writing section was last, and I really think I rocked on that one. Even if no one will ever likely read it.

In my prior academic life, I took the SAT and the GRE. Both of which I was fortunate enough to have to only take once in order to achieve my educational goals of the moment. I could have gone back and taken the tests again to try for a better score; but, why bother. I got what I needed out of the tests. It’s not like getting a perfect score on the tests counts for much of anything once you’ve been accepted to the school of your choice. Or, in my case, the school my finances could afford. Hopefully, my record of once and done will continue to hold.

Now, I have to have the patience to wait until January 10 when my score will be released to find out how I did. If you’re really interested in finding out more about the test, follow the links below.

http://www.lsac.org/JD/pdfs/LSATPreparationweb.pdf

http://www.lsac.org/JD/pdfs/SamplePTJune.pdf

Death Becomes Her

I’ve spent the last 15 years working in the insurance claims business handling what are considered high exposure and complex claims including a fair number of cases involving fatalities. In that time, I’ve handled claims involving some pretty inventive ways to die. Most of those “interesting” deaths aren’t what you would consider to be peaceful. Fortunately for the victims, whatever pain they may have experienced while in the process of creatively exiting this life is mercifully brief.

Almost all of these fatalities are thoroughly documented with accident scene and autopsy photos. In the course of my career, I’ve seen photos of people who died as a result of gunshot wounds, unfortunate encounters with machinery, practical applications of the law of gravity, car accidents, roasting in an open fire and one unlucky soul whose head was crushed by a section of highway overpass girder. Some of these people died in the course of committing some stupid, epically Darwinian folly of their own creation while others had the misfortunate to be caught up in someone else’s grand misadventures. Others still were simply in the wrong place at the wrong time through no fault of anyone.

Most of these people never had to face the possibility of growing old, becoming infirm and eventually dying the allegedly peaceful death of dying in one’s sleep. All of us age; and, eventually, we all will die. Try as we might to avoid death, it is inevitable. The challenge all of us are given is how we will face it when it comes for us.

As you might expect, it’s kind of hard for someone in my line of work not to contemplate one’s own mortality from time to time.

For the last two years since I’ve been working from home full time, I’ve had a front row seat to the slow deterioration of a loved one at the merciless hands of time. This decline has been ongoing for sometime; however, I have only been a regular witness to the effects of advanced aging since my road warrior days commuting back and forth from Dallas to Houston every week came to an end in November of 2008.

The star of this one woman play is my wife’s 94 year old grandmother. I have only known her for a comparatively short time. I know from my photo album that it’s been at least 10 years, and it has to be less than 12 years. How about we just split the difference and call it 11 years?

The first time I met The Queen’s grandmother, a long time widow whose husband had died long before I met The Queen, was when The Queen and I took a trip out to California to visit her. The Queen and I had only been dating a year or two at that point. At the time, Grandma, as we call her, was still living independently in a 2 bedroom apartment off of Marengo Dr. in Pasadena near what used to be the campus for Ambassador College and the headquarters of the Worldwide Church of God.

Grandma had been a longtime member of the church going back to the 1960s. Before Ambassador College closed in the early 1990s, Grandma was something of a self appointed caretaker of the students who came from around the world to attend school there. She would regularly have students over to her apartment for Friday night ice cream socials where they learned that Bailey’s Irish Cream and other liqueurs aren’t just for coffee and froo froo drinks. Though she has, and had at the time, several grandchildren of her own, Grandma unreservedly adopted these students as her “grandchildren”.

This habit of indiscriminate adoption led to an interesting bit of confusion one night when The Queen and I were out in Pasadena to visit Grandma. The Queen and I decided to go out to dinner with people she had known in college at Ambassador who were also adopted grandchildren of Grandma. One of these adopted grandchildren asked The Queen how The Queen knew Grandma. The Queen replied that she was Grandma’s granddaughter. Our dinner companion, not realizing that The Queen was Grandma’s flesh and blood, reiterated her question a couple of different ways until we were able to convey to her that The Queen was, in fact, the daughter of Grandma’s daughter. Our companion was a tad embarrassed when she finally “got it.”

My memory of Grandma from that first meeting is of a feisty, active, petite little woman with a strong will. She had stopped driving several years before after having had an accident and deciding, wisely it is assumed, not to endanger the motoring public further. She managed without a car just fine for quite a while by walking to nearby stores or letting her many “grandchildren” assist her.

One thing that really stood out about Grandma was that you didn’t have to wait long to find out what was really on her mind as she would not hesitate to give you her opinion. If you were a little on the stout or stocky side, she would not hesitate to say, “Grandson/daughter, my you’ve gotten fat.” Some might find this rude (which it is to an extent), but that was just her way of being brutally honest. Of course, she wouldn’t be that brutally honest to just everyone. You had to get to know her first. I didn’t find out until recently, but The Queen told me that Grandma told her after that first visit that she didn’t think I was right for The Queen. She apparently changed her mind about me sometime before the wedding.

Fast forward a few short years to just before The Queen and I got married, The Queen’s family started receiving calls from California from concerned church members about Grandma’s health. I don’t know all the details; but, suffice it to say, the family was very concerned. It was important, and rightly so, to The Queen and her family that Grandma be taken care of properly. However, this desire had to be reconciled against the stark reality of Grandma’s pride and strong will.

Though Grandma had visited her family, including The Queen, here in Texas several times, she had made it abundantly clear that she had no desire to live there whatsoever. She believed that Texas was a ghastly place populated by hicks to borrow her words. She had adamantly stated her intention to live out her years and die in her native California on more than one occasion.

So, what is a concerned family to do? Well, for starters, I gave a couple of roundtrip reward passes on Southwest Airlines I had lying around to the cause. We sent The Queen’s mother out to California to “assist” Grandma. Ostensibly, this was for the purpose of having Grandma fly back with The Queen Mum to visit the family here in Texas for Thanksgiving. We didn’t tell Grandma that we had no intentions of letting her use the return ticket. I proposed to The Queen right after Thanksgiving which gave us a readymade excuse to have Grandma hang around a while longer. The Queen and I planned and held the wedding in just under four weeks. Not because of Grandma…we had been dating for six and a half years at this point, and we didn’t want to waste anymore time.

During The Queen Mum’s trip out to California to retrieve Grandma and continuing into her visit with us, we learned that she had become unable to take care of herself due to persistent back pain such that she had difficulty walking at times. I think this was due to osteoporosis as she has a very pronounced “widow’s hump”. At times, she looks like a petite, female Quasimodo. We also learned that this chronic back pain was interfering with her ability to cook for herself and take care of basic bodily necessities. While all this was going on, church members were carefully boxing up Grandma’s worldly possessions which were then stuffed into a U-Haul truck for the long drive to Texas.

Whether Grandma had a choice in any of this is a subject of some debate. My memory is that Grandma made the decision to remain in Texas on her own after being asked to stay; however, The Queen Mum insists that Grandma was told in no uncertain terms that she was staying here whether she liked it or not. I will choose to hold onto my memory as the truth even if it might be fantasy.

At the time, we did not expect Grandma to live much longer. Such was the shape she was in when she arrived. However, three square meals a day, physical help as needed for life’s basic necessities, and constant love and attention will do wonders for house plants and elderly people. Grandma began to regain her strength and vitality. She had an appetite that would put a voracious pack of teenage football players to shame and could eat people half her age under the table. We speculated that she might have a tapeworm. It became something of a family joke. So, we affectionately named it George.

Of course, it is now seven years later. So much for Grandma not living much longer. Remember what I said about her having a strong will? Her health has continued to trend steadily downward. For the first few years she lived with us, she made it her duty to walk out to the mailbox everyday to retrieve the mail. She enjoyed sitting out on the bench in the front yard to watch the world go by. She would get up every morning, kneel down on creaky knees and pray. She would read her Bible every day using a magnifying glass as her eyesight diminished. Her mind was still very sharp at this point.

Unfortunately, time has taken its toll. It started about three years ago when she stumbled and fell in the middle of the night. We think she was getting up to use the bathroom. Either her legs buckled under her or she tripped, but she landed on an antique wooden luggage rack hard enough to break the wood.

Though she didn’t break any bones in that fall, she was never really the same after that. She would still try to walk; however, we got her a wheelchair for when she couldn’t. Her hearing started getting worse to the point that you had to raise your voice to talk with her. She steadfastly refused to get hearing aids. She thought they were for old people. She began to be forgetful, lose track of time, lose track of little things, forget where she was. Most disturbingly, she would get up in the night to “go for a walk.” We had to resort to putting things in front of the door so she wouldn’t get out and wander the neighborhood.

Fortunately, she became too weak to walk without assistance ending our nightly barricades. She would still try to get up from time to time, but she was too weak to make it far. We obtained a hospital bed from another family member who no longer had need for it. Grandma would sleep, almost like a small child, with the rails up. There were times when we would find her calling for help after getting herself tangled up in the rails and bed covers while attempting some mission only known to her.

Unfortunately, with the weakness came an undesirable side effect…incontinence. At first, it was infrequent. It was embarrassing to her to have to need help from others. Then, it became routine, an accepted part of life.

We have muddled through as best we could this way, each of us doing what we could to assist Grandma while trying to maintain some semblance of a normal life for ourselves. This was not always easy as we’ve been dealing with The Queen’s mystery illness throughout the last four years as well.

In July, we thought we really were going to lose her for real. She had a nasty infection on her hand that had the potential to rapidly turn into a systemic infection. The Queen and I finally convinced The Queen Mum to take Grandma to the hospital. Despite some reluctance on The Queen Mum’s part, this turned out to be a blessing in disguise. The hospital got us set up with hospice and home health care. They come in four or five days a week now to help. They change Grandma, give her a sponge bath, monitor her vital signs and give us a small break from the pressures of caring for an advanced geriatric.

Grandma has continued to slip away from us. She is no longer the once proud woman we all knew and loved. She no longer truly lives so much as she simply exists. She sleeps most of the day whether in bed or sitting up in her chair. When she is awake, she is eating or being assisted with other basic needs. She is completely dependent on others for everything. If she recognizes anyone, she is unable to carry on even a simple conversation. If Grandma is aware of her current circumstances, she gives no indication to us. Perhaps that is for the best.

To be honest, I am amazed everyday when I see her still among the living. That may sound a little callous, but it is the truth. We, as her family, want what is best for her, whatever that may be. We do not wish that she would die, but we do pray that God does not to allow her to suffer and will allow her to pass peacefully when it is her time.

Having watched this process unfold in front of me has, undoubtedly, had an effect on me. I have always joked that I would like to live forever or die trying. Now that I’ve spent the last two years watching the slow decline of a loved one, I feel the need to change that philosophy just a bit. So, instead of just “die trying”, I will amend that to “I want to live forever or die quickly, painlessly and spectacularly while trying.”

I Was Bored...Sue Me

As mentioned in the last couple of posts, I made a road trip to San Antonio the other day. I brought the camera along for giggles as you never know when you might spot something photo worthy. Of course, after an hour or two...my standards started to slip. So, for your viewing pleasure, here are some Kodak moments that found their way onto the memory card.

Wherever you go and wherever you've been, there you are. I thought it was kinda cool that the view of the road in the rearview mirror as well as view out the front were both in focus.

I guess, for some, either the election isn't over or they are just getting an early start on 2012. I do have to question the wisdom of purchasing the advertising space for this message in the MIDDLE OF NOWHERE. Cheaper rate, perhaps?

Your fearless leader and chauffeur.

Hey, Sammy. I can't drive 55 either. Fortunately, the speed limit is 70 in this stretch of Texas interstate.

Rush hour traffic in Austin, TX. It really sucks when you have to pee.

Where are all these people going? I thought we were supposed to be in a recession.

Obviously not from the road trip, but I couldn't resist posting a photo of Sasha the wonder mutt trying to smoke a turkey drumstick.

Car Review: 2010 Dodge Caliber SXT

As mentioned in my last post, I’ve had my fill of the hassle that has become what passes for domestic commercial air travel. I normally fly Southwest Airlines which has historically gone out its way to make things as easy and painless as possible for its customers; however, even SWA is no match for government red tape and the TSA “security” procedures. As a result, day trips to destinations more than 200 miles away that I used to do via air, I now choose to do via car if at all possible.

I have found that scheduling my business for the afternoon gives me much more flexibility than flying. I get to go to sleep at a normal hour, wake up at a normal hour (or at least not an obscenely early hour), drive four to five hours, attend to business, leave when I’m done, stop anywhere I choose along the way, have a nice relaxing meal with real utensils and arrive home before midnight after a leisurely drive listening to good music, talking to people on the phone, etc. This is much preferable to my routine when flying: try to get to bed early (nearly impossible at Castle Erickson), try to wake up early without disturbing The Queen (also nearly impossible), fight traffic to get to the airport at least one hour early, deal with the TSA (getting more and more difficult each day), get to the gate to find out whether your flight is held up by weather or equipment delays somewhere else in the system (rare but not unheard of for SWA early in the day), board the plane and pray there is an emergency exit row seat with extra leg room available (suffer for an hour or so if not), arrive in the city de jour to see how long it take to connect up with your ride (I hate being at the mercy of others), conduct business sometimes finishing early or late depending on how crazy people are that day, see if there is an earlier/later flight available that’s not full while praying that you don’t get stuck with a “C” group boarding pass (if you’ve never flown SWA, a “C” boarding pass means you are all but guaranteed a middle seat between two fat guys), hope you don’t get hosed by traffic on your way back to the airport, deal with TSA (again…“Sir, we need to do a pat down of your groin.”), arrive at the gate to find out that…yes…your return flight is delayed (a much more common occurrence later in the day), dejectedly scope out the airport food court options to enjoy an exciting fast food experience with plastic utensils, go back to the gate to find out that the flight left without you because the gate attendant lied about how long the delay was going to be and the airport PA speakers don’t work in the food court so that you missed the announcement for your flight (it happened to me once…I was not happy)….

Lather. Rinse. Repeat.

Driving’s also cheaper for the company for me to rent a car and drive as opposed to paying for airfare and, occasionally, cab fare.

Such was the case last Thursday when I decided to drive instead of fly from Castle Erickson to the north side of San Antonio (269 miles according to MapQuest). At an estimated 4 hours and 20 minutes, it’s a little further than I would like to drive in a single day when adding in the reciprocal 4 hour and 20 minute return drive. However, I’ve made the conscious decision that my dignity, stress level and personal freedom are worth more to me than the off chance that SWA can get me home an hour or two earlier.

So, as with previous business day trips involving driving, I once again enlisted the help of my friendly, local Enterprise Rent-a-car agency. This time the nice folks there gave me a 2010 Dodge Caliber SXT to drive. Knowing me as well as you should by now, I can’t leave well enough alone. I have to take a stab at writing a review of this case. Of note, I have now completed a Detroit car review trifecta: one each for Chevy, Dodge and Ford.

As with my previous car review, here are the official disclaimers and disclosures.

1) Neither Dodge nor its current owners, Chrysler Group, LLC and Fiat have paid me one thin dime for this review. As far as I know, Dodge, Chrysler and Fiat have no clue that I exist.

2) I (actually my company) paid for the privilege of being able to rent this vehicle from Enterprise Rent-a-Car*. Again, no promotional consideration was paid by Enterprise to me for this review. Aside from the guy at the Enterprise rental counter who now recognizes me on sight, I don’t think they have a clue who I am either.

*Interesting bit of trivia: Enterprise Rent-a-Car was named for the aircraft carrier that the founder and CEO served on while in the Navy.

3) I have nothing against Dodge, Chrysler or Fiat (except for the whole government bailout thing…at least twice for Chrysler now…but who’s counting?) or any other car manufacturer. I have looked at Dodge/Chrysler products on several occasions including every time I’ve considered purchasing a new vehicle. To date, I have not purchased one of their products; however, I came very close to purchasing a Dodge Ram 1500 pickup about 15 years ago. I would have too if the salesman hadn’t tried to pull a bait and switch on me. Pissed me off royally. Ford can thank that guy for a sale (I bought a 1995 Thunderbird instead…really great car).

4) I am not now, nor will I be in the near future, in market for a new car. In fact, I will probably never buy a brand spanking new car ever again. I’m more than happy to let some other hapless soul take the hickey on depreciation while I merrily pick up gently used cars for more reasonable prices.

So, where to begin?

Let’s start with what kind of car this is.

Seriously, I’m still trying to puzzle this one out. Is it a crossover? Is it a mini SUV? Is it a small car? Is it a station wagon or hatchback? Is it a motorized beverage cooler? Normally, when car designers sit down to think up a new vehicle, they have some idea of what the actually intent or end result is supposed to be. Apparently, Dodge designers think this method is overrated. It’s almost like they got a memo from HQ that said “One of each.” It reminds me of the Simpsons episode where Homer’s brother comes to visit and we get a flashback to when Homer ruined his brother’s car company after being allowed to design a car.

Let me just say this to all the Dodge designers who may stumble across this: Whatever you were trying to accomplish with the Caliber…swing and a miss.

Now, let’s talk about the name for a moment: the Dodge Caliber. One of the meanings of “caliber” is “Degree of worth; quality”. “Dodge”, of course, means “to avoid or evade”. Putting the two together, it’s actually an accurate description. That’s not to say that the car I drove was of poor quality (it was not luxury car class quality either); however, since I still don’t know what this car was supposed to be, I can’t tell you if it has any degree of worth. Add to that, Dodge’s marketing department came up with several trim levels for this car: Express, Heat, Mainstreet, Uptown and Rush. I’m pretty sure that the car I had was the “mainstreet” version, and I think I can safely say that “mainstreet” is the only one of the five trim level names that could possibly be applicable to this car. “Express” and “Rush” are out of the question as this car only comes with a four cylinder engine. “Heat” might apply if you are comparing this car to a brick oven; however, if you think this is a “hot” car, you need your eyes checked. “Uptown”…please. You can’t be serious.

Okay, let’s talk about something other than bashing the car’s name and apparent identity crisis.

The exterior is probably best described as boxy. The Scion xB, Honda Element and Nissan Cube are probably the only cars on the planet boxier than the Caliber; however, all of them could win first prize at a Star Trek convention for best impersonation of a Borg Cube. This is a car that only rugged individualists with thick skins could love. This car is the ugly duckling that trips over its own four wheels at the high school dance. It has the aerodynamics of a…well…brick. Some cars can slip through the bow wake of an eighteen wheeler with ease. In the Caliber, things get a little bumpy. The car I drove was equipped with 17 inch aluminum wheels and tires which I’m sure helped with handling and ride comfort over the standard 15 inch wheels.

Speaking of handling, the Caliber surprisingly had a good, smooth ride. It handled corners well, and it didn’t brake like a pissed off Arabian looking to ditch a rider and loose saddle (been there…done that…no fun). So, at least Dodge did something right.

The interior isn’t half bad. Unfortunately, it’s only about half good too. Head room and leg room were good for the most part. However, there was not enough room between the key sticking out of the ignition and the radio console for my right knee. I was afraid I was going to break the key off in the ignition. The seats were almost comfortable…but not quite. They weren’t nearly as bad as the seats in the Ford Focus I drove a while back, but that’s not a stellar recommendation of them either. The seats in the Caliber seem to have had a tense truce with my butt and legs for the duration of the trip. One false move on either side, and things would have gone very badly. The radio control layout takes a bit of getting used to, and I would have liked the tuner knob a bit closer. Extra special bonus, all the Calibers come with Sirius Satellite Radio. The cruise control is flat out in the wrong position, in my humble opinion, and not terribly intuitive. The rearview mirror is a joke and all but useless. I quite bothering to look at thing since it showed more “C” pillar and hatchback than anything else. The “A” pillar is freaking huge limiting outward visibility to the point that you feel like you are driving a tank. The car did come equipped with lighted cup holders…ooohh, wow. I’m probably being overly critical on the cup holders; but, after the LED ambient lighting in the Ford Focus, the lighted cup holders are just insufficient.

One thing that may or may not be neat depending on how you roll is the “Chillzone” storage system. The glove box has a drink rack that holds four 20 ounce plastic bottles which are chilled by the AC system (remember what I said about motorized beverage cooler?). I didn’t have the opportunity to take advantage of this feature; however, I can see how it might come in handy. Once or twice over the life of the car. Truthfully, it seems like a solution without a problem.

How about “performance”? It’s got a four cylinder engine with a CVT transmission. What are you expecting? It gets up and goes when it needs to. It will do the speed limit. What more do you want? You’d think it gets good gas mileage. Right? Dodge’s website claims it will get 23 MPG in the city and 27 MPG on the highway. Since Dodge engineers didn’t see fit to include a mileage computer with this car, I can’t give all sorts of nifty analysis about what the car’s mileage was in various driving conditions. I can just tell you that I put 10.047 gallons into the car after driving 274.0 miles which calculates to about 27.27 miles per gallon. So, at least Dodge is not misrepresenting the mileage figures. I do have one question for them though: who thought it’d be a good idea to put a 13.6 gallon gas tank on a car that gets less than 35 MPG? My 2000 Nissan Maxima with a 3.6 liter V6 gets better gas mileage AND has longer legs. So, remind me again why I would want to buy one of these things?

Dodge’s website claims that this car will run you about $18,810 including the delivery charge which is less than the Chevy Cobalt I drove and about the same as the Ford Focus. As a reminder, the Ford was better equipped than the Caliber for about the same money.

Final thoughts. Would I buy one? No. Should you buy one? I have no idea why anyone would want to. Is it a good car-ish thing? If I knew what it was supposed to be, I could probably tell you. Does it reasonably serve its intended purpose? If I could figure that out….

***5/13/2011 Update - I'm watching old Top Gear - U.K. episodes; and, in Series 8, Jeremy Clarkson called the Dodge Caliber "The World's Most Useless Car." There you have it. A professional agrees with my assessment.

What's In A Name?

Today, I had to go to San Antonio for the day to attend a mediation. Since I have reached my hassle threshhold with flying, I decided to yet again rent a car and drive the 4 hours and 20 minutes from Castle Erickson to the north side of San Antonio where the mediation was to occur starting at 1:30. That put me in Austin around lunch time, and I took the opportunity to stop by the original location of Chuy's on Barton Springs Road for some awesome Tex Mex. The Elvis Green Chile Fried Chicken (chicken breast rolled in potato chips and deep fried) is very good if you're not hungry enough to polish off the Elvis Presley Memorial combo.

My waitress for today was a very friendly person who, I learned, was named Happy Day. It turns out she was born two weeks after I was. This will be forever burned into my memory as she made it a point to remind me that we were conceived in the summer of 1969. I also learned that her sister is named Rainy Summer Day, and her brother is named Dusty Autumn Day.

I promise you I am not making this up.

Setting aside, for the moment, that I could live the rest of my life without ever again being reminded of what my parents were doing during the summer of 1969, I do have to comment about the metaphysical kharma bus that is the burden of all of us who were conceived during the late 60s and early 70s.

To be more specific, hippies should not be allowed to name children. It is as simple as that. I mean, seriously, what does it say about our society that some us were given relatively normal names while others, more or less fortunate depending on your perspective, were bestowed with handles like Happy Day?

I'm pretty sure that Frank Zappa started it by naming one of his kids Dweezel and another Moon Unit. I even once knew a guy whose biological parents named him Buckaroo Bonzai Honolulu Jackson. They were apparently seriously into heroin. Fortunately for him, his adoptive parents changed his name to Devon.

Were these Hippie parents too stoned to care what they were doing to their children for all time? Imagine roll call in grade school for little Dweezel. How about Devon filling out a job application if his name wasn't changed?

Employer: Okay...let's take a look at your application. Wait a minute! Are you some kind of wise ass?

Buckaroo: No, sir. My parents were hippies.

Employer: Do we even bother with the drug test or will the lab get high just being in the presence of your urine?

It's not just the Hippies either. Some parents don't seem to consider the unfortunate consequences of certain name combinations. I once worked with a lady whose married name was Jan Dick. She told me her sister in law was Anita, and she couldn't wait to get married so she could change her name. Then there was another guy I worked with by the name of Michael Hunt. He went by Mike. I am serious. Really.

Of course, the Ho family from Korea can be forgiven if they name a daughter Ida. Maybe.

Why is it that 20 miles per hour in a parking lot feels like warp speed and 20 miles per hour in a school zone feels like you're watching paint dry?

BOHICA*

Hello? Is anyone still here? If you’ve seen my brain, please tell me where I can find it. Alright, so it’s been a while since my last post. I know I’ve let myself slip into bad blogger buddy status…again. In my defense, I’ve had other things on my mind. I’ll get to muse killing, mind occupying stuff in a minute. First, I thought I’d make a feeble attempt to entertain you with some miscellaneous incidents, thoughts and occurrences which have taken place recently.

It’s all the rage to talk about the TSA backscatter x-rays being put into use at our nation’s airports. I’m not going to link to the “if you touch my junk…” guy’s blog as I don’t think you can bring up a news website without finding a half dozen links to the video and blog entries. I had my first experience with them a few weeks ago while traveling on business to the Rio Grande Valley here in Texas. I flew out of Dallas Love Field which is a fair sized airport with lots of traffic (it’s Southwest Airlines HQ airport); however, the TSA (in their infinite wisdom) had not seen fit to install the x-ray machines there yet. They did, however, install them at the airport in Harlingen, Texas…which is smaller than Love Field…and gets much less traffic. Go figure.

Anyway, being the oblivious traveler that I am, I had no idea that TSA had installed any of these infernal contraptions in my fair state much less a tiny market airport like Harlingen’s. Until, that is, I walked through the metal detector and was directed to the scanner booth. It kinda reminds me of stepping into the transporter on Star Trek. The whole process is painless until you get to the post scan pat down. Apparently, the TSA is supposed to pat down any questionable areas spotted on the scan. I got a back of the hand to pockets and groin area that was minimally intrusive. Not that I had much choice in the matter. I could submit to the screening and catch my flight, or I could take a pass, rent a car and drive over 500 miles and 8 hours to get home (which would have put me getting home at like 3:00 AM).

The thing I really want to comment on about this whole TSA screening process is the absurdity and irony of it all.

Let’s take a look at the irony for a moment. The government, in their tortured reasoning, have decided that the best way to prevent the crime of airplane hijacking for terrorist purposes is to commit another “lesser” crime. In this case, the lesser crime is assault or sexual assault depending on your state’s penal code. For instance, here in Texas, assault includes:

Sec. 22.01. ASSAULT. (a) A person commits an offense if the person:

(3) intentionally or knowingly causes physical contact with another when the person knows or should reasonably believe that the other will regard the contact as offensive or provocative.

Simply put, a man or woman making physical contact with another man or woman’s genitals should know that the contactee is going to find that offensive or provocative. The irony is even more amusing when you consider that these crimes are committed right in front of gun toting, licensed law enforcement officers. In Harlingen for instance, you had Border Patrol agents present in addition to local police.

If TSA were smart, they would offer people the choice of which TSA agent they would like to feel them up. They could probably even charge for the option depending on the attractiveness of the agents; but, then they would be engaged in pandering and prostitution.

As mentioned earlier, I see absurdity in this entire process. The idea that a non-professional, government employee of questionable background paid on an hourly basis is going to have the motivation to provide effective security to the traveling public is ludicrous. I was an unarmed security guard for a time in college, and I can tell you that there was no incentive for me to go above and beyond the call of duty in the event of a real security threat. I was window dressing. That is what TSA is: window dressing to make the public feel like we are doing something about lax security.

Seriously, does it make any sense to be putting commercial airline flight crews through stringent security screening? If a credentialed pilot wants to destroy a plane, he does not need to bring explosives or weapons on board to accomplish the task. He has all the tools he needs to do the deed in the cockpit with him.

Do we really need to be patting down nuns and children? Is there some pre-school terrorist cell that I’m not aware of? Have the nuns developed bad habits? Yes, it’s a bad pun. Feel free to boo and hiss. Do we really think it’s a good idea to give a woman wearing a full burkah a free pass through security to avoid offending her due to her religion or national origin?

People like to talk about the Israeli state air carrier’s security record and the procedures that led to that record. From what I’ve read, the Israeli take this business of security seriously. Their procedures start at the time you book your flight and don’t stop, for all practical purposes, until you’ve gotten off their plane at your destination. They don’t worry about political correctness have no qualms about profiling people for additional scrutiny. Are you Muslim wanting to fly El Al? Be prepared for a grilling. The point is that true security comes at a price. It’s a price most Americans just aren’t willing to pay.

Enough about that. I have to go to Houston tomorrow, and I plan on driving not because I fear any terrorist threat but because I’ve reached my hassle threshold.

Next up, a little levity. I saw this news article on Drudge recently. First off, I had no idea that there was such a thing as the Lingerie Football League. For the sake of my marriage to The Queen, that’s probably a good thing. I find this quote from the LFL Wikipedia entry most telling: “League founder Mortaza has admitted that the league is marketed toward ‘mostly beer-drinking college students aged 21 and up.’” You think? As to the OKC mayor’s desire to ban the LFL from his fair city, I say get a life. You can’t legislate morality, and prohibition has never eliminated any alleged criminal activity. Let the market decide what the community values. If there are enough beer drinking college students in town, it will flourish and provide tax revenue. If there are a bunch of uptight teetotalers, it’ll take a quick dirt nap and be gone before you know it.

Lastly, the reason my mind has been a little pre-occupied lately is that I have decided it’s high time that I furthered my education. As a result, I am in the process of applying to law school. I take the LSAT on Monday, December 13, and I am in the process of studying LSAT preparation materials in the time I have left leading up to the five or so hour marathon examination.

Pray for me. I just might need it.

*If you don’t know what BOHICA stands for, Google it. I’m not going to educate you here.

Play Ball

Thus far on this blog, I have refrained from any significant commentary regarding professional sports. This state of affairs is mainly because I am not a big sports fan. I don’t read Sports Illustrated or the sports page of the local paper. I don’t obsess over the box scores or team stats. I DO NOT have a FANTASY football team. That’s not to say I don’t like sports. It’s just that I would much prefer to participate in a sport than watch a sport. I will watch a game or two when the mood strikes, I happen to have free time on my hands and there is nothing better to do. I’ve even been known to go watch games in person from time to time (usually when someone else is paying for the tickets and parking pass).

While I respect the dedication, practice and skill necessary to play any sport on a professional level, I do find the amount of money, adoration and even obsession some people heap on professional athletes to be ridiculous at times. To me, it’s a sad commentary on our society that our entertainers are more highly valued and compensated than some other, much more important, occupations.

Having said all that, I feel that I must comment on the recently concluded Major League Baseball World Series.

For those of you who were not aware, the Texas Rangers lost their first ever World Series last night to the San Francisco Giants who won their first ever World Series much to the apparent disappointment of every mainstream sportscaster and writer in America who were practically in mourning over missing out on a Phillies and Yankees World Series (okay…so, I read an issue of SI while at a mediation a couple of weeks ago…there was nothing else to do).

Seeing as how I live in the Dallas/Fort Worth area and was raised to at least root for the home team, you might expect me to be disappointed that the Rangers lost the Series in five games. No. Not really.

You see, for those of you who DO follow sports more diligently than I, you already know that the fact that the Rangers even made it to the playoffs is an accomplishment in and of itself. The fact that there were no riots when the Rangers won the ALDS and then destroyed the Yankees in the ALCS is a miracle all by its lonesome.

For the uninitiated, please allow me, the un-sports fan, to educate you as to the perennial fiasco that was the Texas Rangers. For as long as I can remember, the Rangers have been an average team with no chance of making it to the playoffs much less the World Series. Historically, the Rangers start off the season looking really good only to magically turn in to the Bad News Bears sometime around the All Star break. You could almost set your watch by it.

I blame the team ownership. Almost everyone on the planet understands that the secret to a winning team is good pitching. The Rangers’ ownership never really understood that lesson until recently. Yes, they’ve had some good pitchers over the years…most notably Saint Nolan and his vicious right upper cut (is your head still ringing Robin Ventura?). I meant to say fastball. Unfortunately, the Rangers have never been able to put together a strong pitching rotation.

Until now.

Saint Nolan is now, as president and managing partner, part of the ownership group that bought the Rangers from Tom Hicks who let the club go into bankruptcy. The same Tom Hicks who thought it was a good idea to sign one player, Alex Rodriguez, to a 10 year $250 million deal. The new Rangers have built a pitching staff that have proven through the ALDS and ALCS that they can get the job done. The new Rangers have also hired Mike Maddux (brother to Atlanta Braves pitching great Greg Maddux) as their pitching coach.

So, for the first time in the history of the franchise, Rangers’ fans have reason to actually look forward to next year instead of just hoping that next year sucks less than last year.

To the folks in San Francisco, enjoy your riots.

Survival 101

Well, it’s that time of year again. Everywhere you turn, it seems there is no escaping the soulless, blood sucking, life draining creatures hell bent on destroying life as we know it. No, I am not talking about the midterm elections next week. I’m talking about Halloween.

Just about every channel on TV has been playing scary movies for the past two weeks or so. You’ve got your teenie bopper slasher films. Your vampire films. Your zombie films. Your werewolf films. Your demented, psycho serial killer films.

The Queen is a big fan of scary movies. She will watch pretty much anything except for the really gory demented psycho serial killer genre. I’m a little more selective. I like the zombie movies and some of the vampire/werewolf movies. Slasher/psycho killer movies…not so much.

As I write this, The Queen and I are watching the much anticipated premiere of the AMC series, The Walking Dead. So far, it’s pretty good. We’ll see if they can maintain the pace over a series.

Now, I know others smarter than I have already written several rules for surviving encounters with the undead/psycho killers. It’s well tilled but fertile soil. In fact, one of the premises of the movie Zombieland was The Rules. However, as a connoisseur of the genre (and listening to The Queen shout “That doesn’t make any sense!” at the TV/movie screen during key moments), I thought I would offer up some (hopefully original) observations on how to survive your next encounter with the undead/psycho killer.

1) No rescues. They’re a bad idea. Invariably, you lose more people than you save not to mention the fact that one of the people you save will have been bitten and will change into a zombie/werewolf/vampire any minute. If they can make it to you unscathed, great. More people to fight off the horde. If not, it was nice knowin’ ‘em.

2) Never trust what you hear on the radio/TV/internet. Just because some voice on the radio says “There are no zombies here. Come join us” doesn’t make it so. It might be an automatic signal transmitting on a loop. The people who recorded it might already be dead, or they may not be very nice and want to enslave you, eat you, use you as their personal sex slave, experiment on you, etc. Remember, trust is earned.

3) Learn from the experience of others. If someone took the time to spray paint a warning on a locked door. Don’t open it.

4) If you wake up in a hospital room wearing nothing but your skivvies and a hospital gown, get dressed and gear up to the extent you can before trying to explore. Does it make any sense to you to go walking around the post apocalyptic world in your bare feet with all that broken glass on the ground. It’ll put a dent in your ability to run from the undead.

5) Focus on the task at hand. Distractions and multi-tasking will kill you. Fly the plane, drive the car, ride the bike, shoot the gun, etc. first, then do something else like look behind you, talk on the radio, pick your nose, change your underwear, etc.

6) If it don’t go bang, slice and dice or sustain life, leave it behind. Family photo albums are nice but not particularly useful when fighting off the hordes.

7) If someone you know and love it bitten, they are no longer someone you know and love. It’s more merciful to put them out of their misery.

Remember, preparation and having a plan are key to survival.

Car Review: 2010 Chevrolet Cobalt LT

Yesterday, I had yet another opportunity to spend quality time in the bustling metropolis that is Houston, Texas. Since I was supposed to be there ALL day from 9:00 in the morning until an undetermined time in the afternoon/evening, I decided to rent a car and drive down on Monday night allowing me a chance to spend the night with some very special friends.

Some of you may remember the last opportunity I had to rent a vehicle for business. According to Blogger’s nifty neato new stats option, that post is the most popular post I’ve ever written if you consider page views to be the benchmark for popularity.

By a wide margin.

The Zombie Gun post, which has generated the most comments so far (if that’s your benchmark for popularity), is the next most popular post.

So, in light of the fact that there is clearly demand for more quality car reviews out there in the ether, who am I to ignore the will of the people? Without further adieu, I offer my humble impressions of the 2010 Chevrolet Cobalt.

As with my previous car review, here are the official disclaimers and disclosures.

1) Neither General Motors nor its current owners, The United States Federal Government and the huddled masses yearning to be free from the excesses of exploding government spending and taxation, have paid me even one thin dime for this review. As far as I know, GM has no clue that I even exist. The Selective Service card in my desk drawer and my tax returns would seem to indicate that the government has a clue as to who I am, and there are several taxpayers who know me personally. However, I don’t think that creates a conflict of interest.

2) I (actually my company) paid for the privilege of being able to rent this vehicle from Enterprise Rent-a-Car. Again, no promotional consideration was paid by Enterprise to me for this review. Aside from the guy at the Enterprise rental counter, I don’t think they have a clue who I am either.

3) I have nothing against GM (except for the whole government bailout thing which we probably will talk about several times during the course of this review) or any other car manufacturer. I have looked at GM products on several occasions including every time I’ve considered purchasing a new vehicle. To date, they have never produced a car that I wanted to buy that was in my price range.

4) I am not now, nor will I be in the near future, in market for a new car. In fact, I will probably never buy a brand spanking new car ever again. I’m more than happy to let some other hapless soul take the hickey on depreciation while I merrily pick up gently used cars for more reasonable prices. In fact, The Queen would be ecstatic if I were to pick up a gently used Chevy Corvette or Cadillac XLR. If you know of one for sale in good condition for which the asking price is less than $100, please let me know.

So, what’d I think of the Chevrolet Cobalt? I’m glad you asked.

I arrived Monday evening at the Enterprise rental counsel and was handed the keys to a “Victory Red” four door sedan that had about 29000 miles on it that appeared to have been well maintained but gently abused as most rental cars are want to be. The car came equipped with 16” aluminum wheels, AM/FM stereo with CD player and MP3 jack, cloth seats and cruise control. According to Chevrolet’s website, this car had the 2LT trim package and would sell for $19,710 in my area.

Right off the bat, I have to make a comparison between the Chevrolet Cobalt and the Ford Focus to point out the obvious disparity between what you pay for versus what you get. The Ford is about a $1000 less than the Cobalt and came with heated leather seats, a sunroof, satellite radio and the ultra cool ambient lighting (which Chevy doesn’t even offer as an option that I can tell). The Cobalt didn’t even have the much vaunted Onstar system. I guess no self respecting member of the proletariat would be caught dead with such trappings of the bourgeois capitalist pigs. So, to recap this point, Ford gives you more stuff for less money. When we are talking about an economy car for the budget conscious, paying more for less doesn’t really make for a great selling point. Just a thought.

Let’s talk about the exterior for a moment. While I know we are not talking about the latest and greatest super sexy looking European super car here, the Cobalt has all the aesthetic appeal and styling of a sandblasted brick. To be fair, the Ford Focus was beat with the same ugly stick as the Cobalt. The best looking econobox I’ve ever seen is the Honda Civic, and even that car can be reminiscent of a door stop or a tortoise at times. Aerodynamics…ppffftthh. What’s that? I had to keep a handful of right rudder on the steering wheel for a good portion of the trip south due to some steady wind out of the southeast.

Now, some of you may be wondering how the unionized government employees at GM are at building quality cars these days. Overall, I would have to give them a passing grade on their construction of the Cobalt. Fit and finish did not appear to be any better or worse than the Ford Focus. I did notice that the inner panel of the driver’s door rattled when I closed it and the driver’s seat did not seem to be completely anchored; however, that may have been due to the fact that it was a rental vehicle with 29,000 miles on it based at a rental location in South Dallas. I will give them the benefit of the doubt on this one with the cautionary caveat that build quality on any high volume fleet vehicle can be spotty from time to time.

Next, how comfortable is the Cobalt? I honestly have no real complaints about the interior comfort of the Cobalt. In fact, in some ways, the cloth seats in the Cobalt were more comfortable than the leather seats in the Focus. The trip to Houston usually takes me right at four hours from door to door. Due to traffic, I actually spent a total of 5 hours in the car coming back last night of which I drove the last three hours nonstop without my butt falling asleep. My lower back was killing me due to the lack of lumbar support in the seat…but my legs and butt were awake and alert. The head room and leg room were adequate for my frame (6’4” and 240 pounds); however, had Chevy put a sunroof on this car, the head room would have been a smidge on the tight side.

One plus with the interior is that the window sill is thoughtfully placed at the right height for me to drive with my lazy elbow on the sill. The driver’s door rest was a little low for me, but it was closer than the arm rest in the Focus. The dashboard was well laid out. Unfortunately, that’s not saying much when you only include three instruments: a speedometer, a tachometer and a fuel gauge. Another plus was that the radio controls were within easy reach compared to the Focus. I didn’t have to reach quite as far for the radio tuner knob.

I must note here that I had planned on complaining about how bad the radio reception in the Cobalt was until I noticed, upon returning the vehicle to Enterprise this morning, that the radio antennae was missing completely. So, the fact that the car got any radio reception at all much less reception from about 45 miles away from the towers is pretty good in my opinion.

One final note on the interior before moving on, the passenger side airbag/seat belt sensor is sensitive. No, really…I mean SENSITIVE. I stopped on the way south to grab some dinner to go from Chili’s. I got an order of boneless buffalo wings and a salad, placed them carefully in the passenger seat, turned on the car, and was informed via a glaring red light and annoying little “alarm” tone that something or someone was in the seat. Think about that for a moment…the sensor was triggered by A SALAD. What happens if you put a Chihuahua in the front seat? Does it start cursing at you about the morbidly obese whale sitting next to you?

Oh, and no comments about eating a salad while driving. It can be done if you know how.

Moving on then…it’s time to tell you how well (ahem…cough, cough) the Cobalt performs.

Chevy claims that the Cobalt will get 37 miles per gallon fuel economy on the highway. I personally observed 36.0 mpg over 3 nonstop hours heading north at an average speed of 68 miles per hour. Keep in mind that the trip north from Houston to Dallas is generally “uphill” from Houston’s elevation of approximately sea level to Dallas’ elevation of about 800 feet above sea level. The car did come with a trip computer info option for instantaneous MPG, and I observed mid 20s to mid 40s depending on uphill vs. flat vs. downhill. If I had set the cruise control at 60 MPH instead of 68 or 69 MPH, I’m pretty sure I would have averaged about 40 MPG.

As with the Focus, the Cobalt won’t be winning you any drag races anytime soon; however, it has enough get up and go to get on the highway without being crushed like a beer can. It also had no trouble passing trucks when necessary and maintained a perfectly respectable and legal highway speed.

The one area that I give the Cobalt higher marks than the Focus is the handling. Unlike the Focus, the Cobalt’s steering was tight without being twitchy. It had a tight turning radius just like the Focus and was responsive when necessary. The brake pedal response was a little inconsistent. Sometimes you would step on the brakes lightly and nothing would happen. Other times, you would get what you would expect…a smooth and predictable stop. The Cobalt also did not have the tendency to nose dive and stop on a dime and give 9 cents change like the Focus. Here again, it’s probably a matter of personal preference and something you would become accustomed to over time.

And now, for the moment of truth…is the Chevrolet Cobalt a good car for its intended purpose and would I buy one? In short, yes and no. The Cobalt is not a BAD car for its intended purpose; however, it’s not really a GOOD car either. It performs its function adequately enough to be useful for its purpose. Unfortunately, Chevy and GM have maintained their streak of not making a car that I would WANT to buy. There’s nothing about this car that makes say: “Hey, that’s neat.” Or “This is REALLY nice.” For my money, I would rather pay $1000 less and get more car in the Ford Focus.

Your experience may vary.