Tag Archives: Photo

Wheels Are Turning, In Her Head

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Anne walked home from school one day this week. It was one of those balmy, at least for February, days. While she walked, with her iPhone, she was taking pictures of the wheel covers and hub caps of cars that were parked along the way. She had taken several photographs in a row, when a man approached her and asked her what she was doing. He had been watching TV, in his living room, and saw her taking a picture of his car and several more and he wanted to know what she was doing. Anne explained that she was researching a quilt project. She found the patterns in automobile wheel covers interesting. So to gather some data for this quilt project, she was taking pictures of them. Hearing her explanation, he asked her to email him the photo of his car. Anne emailed it on the spot. This seemed to mollify the man. I think that he just wanted to get her email address, in case there was trouble later. Anne didn’t take any more pictures, during the rest of her walk home.

This story didn’t come as news to me. For weeks now, Anne has been counting the spokes on the wheels of cars. When we walk together, she’ll call out her counts. This one has six spokes that one has ten and this one has sixteen. I found it interesting, at first. It has gone on long enough though that it is beginning to get annoying and shows some signs of OCD behavior. Don’t get me wrong. I love my wife and enjoy our walks together. I just wish that she would get her mind out of the gutter. I had to crop the three wheel photos with this post to cut out the adjoining curb and the gutter in-between. What is wrong with automotive hood ornaments?

America loves its cars. Cars are as American as mom, apple pie and dogs. One politician thinks that dogs riding on top of cars is also an American value. I must admit that I still love my new Prius. I am certainly spending a lot more time in it than before I took the job in St. Chuck. My longer highway commute does increase the MPG of my Prius, with the associated bragging rights, but with the recent rise in gas prices, it is more expensive. Some people have car fetishes that cost thousands of dollars. Anne’s interest in cars is no more costly than being featured as blog fodder. She is a good sport for putting up with my ribbing. Luv ya, Babes!

Read This Post, My Little Pretties!

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Read This Post, My Little Pretties!

First, let’s dispense with some particulars. I bought these gloves at Mardi Gras. I know that this is no excuse, but that’s my story and I’m sticking to it. Anne is the hand model. I am in her debt for playing along on this photo shoot. The postcard is from Heifer, one of our charities. And yes, this is the grodiest, still functioning keyboard, known to man. Do you really think that you can write a scary post with a clean computer? Queue the evil laughter now …

Here are a few scary thoughts, in no particular order:

On the first day of his administration, President Rick Santorum announced that he would …

Vice President Newt Gingrich called for the unilateral bombing of North Korea, Iran and Cuba. When President Santorum informed Gingrich that he wasn’t in charge, the Vice President then threw a really big hissy fit, filed for his third divorce, fourth marriage and then announced another book tour, “Newt Gingrich – President of Vice”.

Ron Paul escaped from the asylum for the politically insane and announced his 2016 presidential campaign.

Mitt Romney continued his campaign for the Republican presidential nomination, this time in the state of denial.

Tea Party elected officials, called for new laws to aid the prosecution of witchcraft. In response, Nancy Pelosi turned all these Tea Party officials into newts. All of their spouses then divorced them and got the better of them.

Now here is a scary thought for the other half of America:

Announcing that he had received his opponent’s concession phone call, President Obama was met with thunderous cheers from the gathered supporters, who began to chant, “Four more years! Four more years!”

A scary thought that strikes closer to home, involves the word, osculable. I used it a couple of posts ago and in case you didn’t know, it means kissable. I used it in the context that Anne is oscuable, which she is, at least by me. This morning, I asked Anne if she knew what the word meant, she did. Oscuable is the adverb form of the verb, osculate, which most commonly means to kiss.

Anne also knew the less popular mathematical definition of this verb. Here is the Google definition: (of a curve or surface) Touch (another curve or surface) so as to have a common tangent at the point of contact. She then proceeded to demonstrate her point, using different shaped kitchen strainers. I was left with the thought, “Honey, one too many Algebra classes this week”, but I then did get a kiss on my way out the door.

Direction of Flow

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The Three Rules of Plumbing

  1. Sh!t flows downhill
  2. Never chew your fingernails
  3. Payday’s on Friday

Direction of Flow

I’m not a Sanitary Engineer, like my Grandfather joked that he was, and I’m not a Hydrology Engineer, like my SIL [Anne's acronym], Jay, but I do believe that this sewer grate violates the first rule of plumbing. Maybe it doesn’t really matter, because you can see the river while standing on it. However, my wife, the former Environmental Engineer, might object having this sewer’s flow passing directly into the Mississippi. I’m guessing that her objection would broadly fall under the second rule of plumbing? Anyway, on Saturday, Anne kicked this decision over to her sister, my SIL. So Jay, which way is the correct direction of flow?

Like his father before him, my father is an engineer. My Dad graduated from Annapolis. He rebuilt aircraft carriers. He left military service with a PhD in Mechanical Engineering. He followed that up with a PhD in Biomedical Engineering. His study culminated in the patenting of a medical device, the third rule of plumbing realized.

Like my father before me, I am a Jedi engineer. I am a third generation engineer. I started out as a Computer Scientist, albeit in the school of engineering. I tried to become an Automotive Engineer, but found that line of work was not for me. I’ve ended up an Electrical Engineer, which in some engineering schools is a close cousin to Computer Science. I’ve always found this transition strange, but it works. 

One of my sons is an artist and one of my sons is an engineer. I feel like the father of renaissance men. Dave, is the fourth generation engineer in the family, another Biomedical Engineer. I hope that he doesn’t feel that the weight of history, or the first rule of plumbing weighs too heavily upon him. I know that I chew my fingernails way too much. All this engineer crap is in honor of National Engineers Week. So honor your own favorite engineer, turn on a light, turn on a faucet, turn on your iPhone, start your car, feel free to fly about the country, say thanks for your very life, say thanks to an engineer. We earn it every Friday.

This final item is offered up by way of a postscript. Today, Dave flies to San Diego to attend a research conference. Purdue is covering his expenses. He plans on having lunch with his Rochester advisor.

Fat Tuesday

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Beads

Today, is the official Mardi Gras or Fat Tuesday, and today there was another Mardi Gras parade in Soulard. School and work, prevented Anne and I from attending this event, but I’m sure that Gary and Linda were there. Just like there are two Mardi Gras parades in town, next month, there will be two Saint Patrick’s Day parades, one on a Saturday and one on the actual date. As I’ve said before, Saint Louis loves its parades.

In the run up to Valentine’s Day, I was queued up for lunch in the café at work, and I entered into a conversation with a female colleague. I started to rattle on about my romance for Anne and mentioned that we had had a beach wedding. “Oh, you had a destination wedding”, she exclaimed. It certainly was a destination for some of our guests. My family had to travel clear across the country to attend, but I never thought of our wedding as a destination wedding. The other day, after Anne had jumped into a classroom infected with stomach flu, I didn’t mean to imply that she wasn’t still osculable, because she is.

We discovered that the bank had charged a $500 check to Dave’s checking account in error. The check is from an account that is only one digit off from his, so a human error could have accounted for it. Messages to the bank finally got the error corrected. The coincidental aspect of this bank error is that the check is from one of Dave’s high school classmates. Dave’s graduating class was less than a hundred, so the magnitude of this coincidence is pretty big. Dave’s summary comment about this incident was, “I never really did like [this person] in high school and now I have a reason.”

I’m sure you have all been wondering about what has been happening in the bicycle borne mileage horse race, between Anne and I. No? Well, I’ll tell you anyway. I am now officially in the lead, by one mile. I rode on Sunday and Anne did not. I won’t disclose our actual mileages, for fear of ridicule from some of our more bicycling active friends. I could claim age related grade inflation points, over some of these friends, but not Captain Don.

At work, I started a new project. The one thing that I can tell you about this project is that it is situated in Saint Chuck. Saint Charles is located across the wide Missouri from Saint Louis. It was the first state capital and is now a more rural and Republican county than Saint Louis, a self-proclaimed God’s country, home for real ‘merkins. It seems nice, except for doubling my commute. It is suppose to be a temporary assignment. We’ll see how long it lasts.

Saint Louis Mardi Gras

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Lent is the part of the Ecclesiastical calendar that begins on Ash Wednesday, next Wednesday, and ends on Easter Sunday, some forty days hence. Lent is a time for penance and fasting. It also coincides with that season of the year that in our agrarian past was when winter larders began to give out and before spring’s new growth could be realized. I suspect that in year’s past, there was an element of making virtue out of necessity, when it came to giving up things for Lent. Immediately preceding Ash Wednesday and Lent, comes Fat Tuesday, or in French, Mardi Gras. Mardi Gras has traditionally been an opportunity for one more chance to revel and feast before Lent closes in. Ground zero for Mardi Gras, at least in this country, has always been New Orleans, but Mardi Gras celebrations in Saint Louis have risen to number two in size. Two cities that are linked by river and by French heritage form the axis of festivity for this informal holiday. Saint Louis’ Mardi Gras centers around Soulard, a neighborhood founded by and named for a refugee from the French Revolution. Once dilapidated, its 19th century row houses were rehabbed in the 1980s. One such is the home of our friends, Gary and Linda.

Gary and Linda live, breath and revel in Mardi Gras. As Gary told me, “If I lived a block off of Times Square in NYC, New Year’s Eve would be my big holiday. Since I live here, it’s Mardi Gras.” This is the second year that we have been invited to their Mardi Gras party. This year we decided to bicycle to their place, because last year, parking was so tough. On the way over, we got caught up in the Mardi Gras traffic, which at times seemed a bit hairy, but as it turns out the toughest part, was the last fifty feet. Getting through the security cordon required sneaking around a fence. What we worried about most, the return run, with all of the drunks about, turned out to be a non-event. We got 20 miles, but I digress. Gary is the master of Mardi Gras. He has a portable grandstand that eliminates the need to queue up for a spot to see the parade. This year’s innovation were giant rake like claws, perfect for snagging tossed beads. Saturday’s parade began at Busch Stadium and ended at the brewery. This route underscores one of, if not the main activity at Mardi Gras, drinking. Gary and Linda were not remiss in this department either. As if coffee and Bailey’s was insufficient to the occasion, they had alcohol infused whip cream to top things off with. This year, as opposed to past years, I concentrated on photographing the crowd, rather than the parade. All of the people pictured were willing subjects and some were maybe a little too willing. We launched from our house after nine and didn’t recover until after four. After a quick turnaround, we drove to our second Mardi Gras party, Rodney and Michelle’s. This was a work related function and was more family friendly, than the Soulard affair. The food was to-die-for good.

Palaver

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Cymbidium Valley Blush - Magnificent

I nearly had an accident this morning. I was headed northbound on 170 and had almost reached my exit, when this incident occurred. Instead of my usual NPR diatribe, I was listening to a podcast, off of the iPhone. The podcast was of an etymological bent, so I was rather self-absorbed by it when danger arose. A piece of metal was stretched perfectly perpendicular across my lane. Even in retrospect, I can only describe it as one of those spike strips that the police use to disable high-speed chase vehicles. Rousing from my stupor, I managed to get two wheels around it, but the other two wheels were forced to plow over it. It made a hell of a racket. I exited a half mile later and there was a police station right there. I found no damage to the car. I reported the obstacle to the desk sergeant, who turned to the dispatcher, who confirmed that it had been removed. Just not in time for me. On the return run, in the evening, the radio traffic report had a box spring bed and a car hood on different highways about town. There was a lot of littering going on today. Recounting all of this to Anne at dinner, she told me about her own road obstacle incident, from many years ago. Stuffed animals littered the road in front of her. She steeled her heart and did not try to serve around them; the traffic would not have permitted it anyway. Afterwards, she consoled herself with the knowledge that these were all factory fresh stuffed animals, so none had yet been loved.

Petroglyphs Sunset

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Petroglyphs Sunset

This photo is a reprise of the same sunset previously featured in the “Desert Sunset” post. It is also the same locale, Three Rivers, just from a different point of view. It was a beautiful sunset, and bears repeating. The following bulleted items will have to pass for today’s news and views.

  • There was another opportunity to hit the beach again, but it went to someone else. Beach you ask? I’m talking about New Mexico, sand, white sand at that, sun, plenty of sun. Water, you ask? Yes, we have water in the desert, both kinds, bottled and tap. You can drink the bottled water, but not the tap, because the tap water is laced with arsenic.
  • Likewise Anne missed out on a night in the museum, next month. This year’s sixth grade field trip is to Chicago and features a night in the Field Museum. I wonder if Ben Stiller will be there? Anyway, at least she doesn’t have to worry about trying to sleep on the museum’s hard marble floors.
  • Anne has gotten all flexuous since I have returned. She joined a student-teacher yoga class at school. Last week was her first session. All of the adults hang out towards the back of the room, with the students in the front. I on the other hand am working on burled oak, for the embodiment of my physicality.
  • Finally, Anne got switched today, from elementary school art class to third grade to cover for a teacher with stomach flu. Then one kid went home after throwing up. I’m so glad that Valentine’s Day is over now, blown kisses and virtual hugs are no where as romantic as the real thing. After the sick kid left, there was still some bellyaching about school work.
  • “I’m going to say this to the world”, was a snippet of a phone conversation that I overheard this morning. I was in Starbucks, waiting for my frothy beverage to be served. It was uttered by a Clayton businessman, frothy beverage already in one hand and cell phone pressed against his ear in the other. He made this statement as he walked by me, on his way out the door. What he was going to say to the world, I have not a clue, but I was struck by his unusual phrase. Usually, I would say something like, “I’m going to tell everyone.” Everyone, being my small circle of acquaintances. His phrase smacked of pretentiousness, but isn’t this what I try to do every day on this blog, say something to the world?
  • I was walking by a large flat screen TV that was tuned to Fox News, when I overheard one of the talking heads telling the other talking heads, “The despised President Obama, …” Since when does fair and balanced news reporting include the use of epithets? On any other blog writing night, this would be enough of a spark for a major political crank off, but tonight it comes too late to mind, to be more than a winter night’s farcicle.