After 4 years and 64k in the hole...

and after the monthly payment on that student loan debt I am making... fucking minimum wage.

Things I Learned from My Dad, Part 2

Ok, because the Big Sis got me thinking and cuz I think he’s due some credit…
Things I Learned from My Dad part 2.
Ok, don’t remember being taught how to shake a hand, but that is what I recall being taught. Moving on and to why this is relevant at all. As if relevance ever played a part in my skull. My bike, my toy of toys, my nemesis, my selfish indulgence, my Honda CBR 1000rr go fast, take your breath away with acceleration even exotic supercars (Lambos, Porsches, Ferraris, Astons et al) except the Ariel Atom (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WaWoo82zNUA) cannot hope to match. Naught to “Um, Gee, no, officer, I didn’t realize I was going THAT fast. Yes, I’ll surrender the key” in 3.5 seconds.
Back to Dad. Well, until yesterday (2/4/09) the bike had been mostly disassembled in my garage since… oh September. Why? Because I believe I can do what the grease munkies down at the local shop can do even if I can’t do it quite as efficiently. I believe I can pull nuts and bolts off something that is frankly a brilliantly high end piece of modern engineering, fiddle about with the innards and put it back together in such a way as to A) not have pieces left over, B) have the object de not-working work and C) not only work but have actually FIXED whatever was wrong with it in the process.
I have a habit of leaping before I look. The converse is also true; looking and never leaping. Knowing that bit of the equation, I have a tendency to heave myself from the precipice, notice there’s scant water in the pool and wonder how to change adjust my drag coefficient enough to slow myself down so the mere puddle of liquid will be sufficient to keep me from splatting on the tiling. (“Arch! Arch!... Angels!”)http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0089126/
This fearlessness, nay recklessness I owe to my Dad. I recall being given carte off-white at an early age to use his tools as long as I didn’t hurt them and they were put back where they came from. Much to the distress of a few mechanical clocks, and other assorted items that were deemed ‘take-apartable’. But the watershed came when I needed to work on the bicycles in high school. My friend, Mark Podojil, was coming from Ohio to Connecticut to join me on a ride out on Cape Cod with my church youth group. In order to make sure the bikes were up to it, the pastor advised doing maintenance on them. With Dad’s ok I tore the bikes apart. Given this was junior year in high school and things were… uh, tense between us often this strikes me as remarkable. I got the bikes put back together and they worked fine.
Next was the Lawnboy. A simple 2-stroke engine, but not to someone who knew nada about internal combustion engines. I mowed the lawn and got tired of the thing dying on me, a lot. I was given the go ahead to pull it apart, clean it and reassemble it. As I recall, it worked better afterwards. Might have simply been the new spark plug, but I still did it.
Since then, I’ve yanked parts out of a Chevy Cavalier (minor cross threading of transmission lines in the process, but still no more expensive than having someone else change the radiator), the Izusu Rodeo, Ford Probe, and Honda Accord. I’ve torn apart and rebuilt a number of bicycles over the years. I’ve pulled windows from one house and successfully replaced them, replaced siding on both houses I’ve lived in as an adult, and lots of little projects along the way. OK, Mom inspired some of the interior fearlessness, but Dad gave me the willingness to use tools much to my left thumb’s detriment.
You gave me the confidence to try things, that I can do things that seem daunting. I repainted the house this summer and had to redo the siding around the chimney (metal insert fireplace/chimney) which led to having to redo some of the internal framing due to dry-rot. While I was teetering a story and a half in the air nailing T1-11 in place (I loathe that junk), the neighbor happened to ask how I knew how to do this stuff. I glibly answered, “Never assume my willingness to do something has anything to do with my knowing how to do that thing.”
That is what my Dad taught me.

First day!

And I am beat! Some one else make dinner.

Good things: the new work place feels like a good environment. People LIKE working there, but still have their personal caveats.

Bad things: um, I'm ADD, can some one impose some structure? No? Oooo, buddy, this is gonna be fun.