Cleaned out

Did you hear the one about the naive guy in Fennville and the washing machine?

Yeah, he got taken to the cleaners.

The new washing machine arrived Tuesday. As the crew was unloading it, the driver came over and asked me if I wanted to send it back.

Huh?

The sides were pushed in from a forklift loader, he said.

Super.

I spoke with a Sears (indeed!) representative on the phone, told her that I wanted my wife to look at it, and the representative said we could still bring it in and use it until a replacement could come in. I told the crew to bring it in anyway and remove the old hulk. In my mind was the giant mountains of dirty laundry scattered about the house like mole holes in the back yard. My youngest daughter only had one pair of underwear left. Now, for me, not wearing underwear is a given, but for a little girl. ...

The new machine was hauled into the dungeon I call a basement and, of course, the drain hose wouldn't fit. The delivery crew wouldn't work with it, saying they're not required to do anything that is out of the ordinary and the skeletons shackled to the wall near the burning torches freaked them out.

Now, I have a new washer that I can't use, a big bill and hose just flailing around the dungeon like a medieval torture device.

Thought: Sears!

Close to the Edge

So I wrote a blog yesterday that was the definitive analysis of the gas price problem, who was to blame and how to remedy the situation.

Well, I went to post it and the blog froze.

I only had that one chance to write because my youngest daughter was ill and was sleeping. She then woke up and my free time vanished.

Humanity has lost another great work of political and economic insight. Here's the short version:

George Bush is to blame and we're all screwed.

Music

Yesterday afternoon, I dropped my other daughter off at dance and instead of driving around because of $3 a gallon gas prices, I stayed put. I closed my eyes, put in a CD in my portable player and relaxed. I listened to the Yes work, "Close to the Edge."

It's my favorite Yes album and, outside the Beatles sphere, in my top five favorite list. I had never listened off the CD with headphones before and was just bowled over. I could hear the individual water drops in the title track and the subtle guitar and bass shifts in "And You and I," my favorite Yes song. ooh, it's sooo good.

I still don't understand the lyrics, the message the band is sending, but I have an overall impression of sound, of a journey, of decisions and love.

Thought: Even Siberia goes through the motion. ...

Thanks, George

Oh, the hand-wringing over gas prices. Oh, the pain of $3 a gallon. Oh, how will we survive? Oh, please.

I'm not happy with the spike in prices. Just like every other American, I rely on my car to get around for most things -- to get to work, to take the kids to school -- but unlike most Americans, I think I accept who is to blame for the gas price increase, George Bush.

No, I'm not just bashing the president. That's like shootin' fish in a barrel (no Cheney jokes, please). And I know we're all to blame, but collective guilt does little. So I blame the president for the uncontrolled increase and I blame myself for being a rider on the Titanic. But how does a passenger on a doomed ship get off it in the middle of the ocean? You can't.

Here's why I blame the president for my pain at the pump:

1: Iraq. He invaded a major oil producing nation for no logical reason. We know there were no weapons of mass destruction. We know the 9/11 terrorists had no link to Saddam Hussein. Yet the U.S. invaded. Thanks, George, for further destabilizing the region and being responsible for the deaths of more than 2,000 U.S. soldiers and countless Iraqis.

2: Iran: Bush gives this "axis of evil" speech and includes Iran. Way to go, George. The nation continues its struggle after the 1979 Revolution from an oppressive, U.S.-backed dictator, and was making minute yet encouraging signs of openning. No more. Nice job, George. Way to pour an ocean to extinguish a small flame of hope.

3: Hamas. So the U.S. backs free Palestinian elections, but the wrong people win in a fair vote (Sounds like the U.S.!). So, instead of accepting a legitimate government and working with it, the U.S. cuts off needed aid. Now there's even more chaos and suffering. Thanks again, George.

4: Venezuela. So, there's this coup against the constitutionally elected government in this oil-rich nation, and the U.S. backs the plotters. And does the international equivalent of a playground "na-na-na-na-boo-boo" to the ousted president. Oops. The president gets back in power. Now we look silly and we've pushed a borderline leader into the crazy camp.

So, as our ship of state chugs headlong into the ice field, I can only thank George Bush for getting us here. I think the captain of the ship has a blindfold on and his self-appointed crew is wearing sunglasses on a moonless midnight.

Our only hope? The ship runs out of gas. And that may be sooner than we all think.

Thought: Who sails into an ice field, anyway?

Napoleon Dynamite

My wife and I settled down to watch a movie last night. The film, "Napoleon Dynamite," came highly recommended from friends, and, hey, who hasn't seen a "Vote for Pedro" shirt? I was expecting some good laughs along the lines of "Caddyshack" or even "Blazing Saddles."

I was disappointed and, worse, I was disturbed by the film. I would have been better off not watching it.

The humor was based around the main character, Napoleon Dynamite. Napoleon isn't funny -- he's a violent person with deep anger. He's also mentally handicapped, as is his new friend, Pedro. The film doesn't come out and say they are handicapped, but their behaviour is not "nerd-like," it's unbalanced.

For example, Napoleon gets angry at having to feed a llama. He keeps the animal tied up and throws the food so the animal can't get it. He decides he likes a girl in his Idaho high school and transfixes on her not in a healthy adolescence crush-like way, but in a mass-murderer sort of way. You know at the point Napoleon gets dumped when he's older, he's going to kill the object of his affection.

His life is surrounded by disfunctional people and his base anger boils over constantly. Again, it's not funny. It's uncomfortable, like watching an alcoholic self destruct.

Another example: Napoleon's friend, Pedro. He gets hot, so what does he do? He shaves his hair off. The circumstance is a set up for wearing a wig, but Pedro's response to a normal feeling (heat) is abnormal (cut off your hair).

Better off with better films

I won't belabor this with more discussion on such points as why the person Pedro runs against for student president should be disliked (I don't get it), or why most of the adults are mumbling idiots or how the movie clumsily sidestepped the issue of race with Pedro's pinata. Even the sight gag of shooting the cow and the steak dinners isn't done well.

I just think the movie is a disturbing shot at people with mental problems.

Compare it to, for example, "Better Off Dead." That comedy is set up on a morbid premise -- a teen gets dumped by his girlfriend and tries to kill himself. It's done, though, through hyperbole, not anger. And it's hilarious. Ricky, for example, is not a seriously unbalanced teen, he's played for the funny. He doesn't really threaten Monique in the unbalanced way Napoleon does the girl who took him to the dance.

Also look at "Sixteen Candles." That's loaded with heavy issues on relationships (parents to children, girlfriend to boyfriend, normal to geek) and the marriage of Sam's sister to that loser could have been loaded with dread and foreshadowing of abuse or infidelity, but it's handled light enough to make it funny and unreal. That's why I can laugh.

One redeeming quality: Napoleon's dance at the end is very well done.

Thought: Don't vote for Pedro.

It's a wash

Monday was a bad day. Not the kind of bad day where someone gets hurt, but the kind of day when little annoyances reach a deafening pitch. You know, like coming home to cat urine all over the house, or a leaky pipe, or having your daughter's friend throw up all over the playground. You know.

I had that kind of day, so what do I do? I try to fix the washing machine.

This evil contraption gets clogged pretty easily. The price has been more than $100 to have someone pop off a tube, dig out the coin or lint, then reassemble it. This has been done twice already. For more than $300, we could almost get a new washer that isn't the piece of crap we have.

By the way, I find Sears products to be substandard. Sears has dropped in my book. Darn Sears. Their appliances break easily and are costly to repair. It's a scam and I think those repair contacts are like black mail. Sears, indeed!

So, I attempted to fix the washer. Remember, I'm the guy who flooded the downtairs bathroom when I tried to fix the upstairs toilet. I'm the guy who sent untold volts of electricty through my body when I was fixing a stove. I'm the guy. ... You get the picture.

I got the offending hoses off the washer, which dumped gallons of soapy water all over the basement (with no drain) floor. I disassembled the filter and pump to clean it out. All was going well. Then I had to put it back together.

Because I didn't have the right-sized tool, I stripped the heads of the screws with my hex tool. Why can't they just use regular screws and not these custom-fitted metric monsters? It's like the old headlights on cars: I had to buy two new tools to replace the headlights. It's a scam, I tell you. Nothing wrong with the simple flat-head or, if I'm feeling crazy, the Philip's head. A hex on the hex!

Then the clamp on one of the hoses snapped off of my pliers and cut me a nice canyon on my knuckle.

After several hours, I got everything put back together. I did the job so well that, not only would the water still not drain out of the washer, but the spin cycle amped up to airplane take-off velocity and wouldn't stop! I thought my washer was going to go airborne!

So, I calmly unplugged it and tried to open the door (it's a front loader -- oh, they're evil!). The door was locked. It would not come loose, so I yanked it open. That showed it. Now the door won't seal properly.

Still with an inner peace I swear Gandhi couldn't have felt, I collected my tools, toweled them off and walked upstairs to talk to my wife:

"We're going to buy a new washer."

She understood immediately (we've been married almost 16 years) and went online to order one. A top-loader this time! And we saved some cash on a discount! And the company would take away the old carcass! And it would be delivered Tuesday! And installed!

And it's from Sears.

Thought: Serenity now!

Easter Sunday

When I walked up the front porch Sunday morning after work, I saw a sign posted on the front door. I could tell right away it was drawn by my daughters. The message: "Welcome Easter bunny! What did you hide us?"

It was the first of many pictures stuck up about the house of the Easter bunny and eggs. I was warned before I left for work Saturday -- Dad, I was told, get home early so you don't scare away the Easter bunny! And don't hit him with your car!

Good advice.

When I woke later Sunday morning, my oldest daughter had drawn me another Easter bunny picture with the words: Happy Easter, Dad! It was dropped on my forehead.

The kids were excited about Easter.

My wife had made baskets for them and colored eggs earlier in the week. My mother sent some nice gifts in the mail that arrived Saturday. We spent the day as most families -- took the dogs to run in the park, the girls played outside with the neighbors, I snuck in a short bike ride (6 miles only) against a 20 mph headwind.

Explaining

So, how do I explain Easter to the kids? Like all college graduates, of course. I got them a book.

The Saugatuck library had a good children's book on the holiday. It talked about spring, rebirth in nature, rabbits and worked in the resurrection (sans the morbid crucifxion images that Mel Gibson finds so appealing). When we read the book and talked about Jesus and Easter, my youngest said, "So we all believe in Jesus, right Dad?"

My college education paid off here. I pulled out another book -- a children's guide to different religions of the world. We talked a little about Muslims and Jews and Buddhists. Then my daughters pointed to an image and said they recognized it -- it is the symbol I wear on a chain around my neck.

I explained it was the OM symbol and a little about Vedanta, and emphasized that not everybody believes the same thing about God.

"So what are we?" asked my youngest.

"Anything you want to be," I responded.

They looked confused. I told them if they wanted to talk to Jesus, that's OK. If they wanted to chat with Krishna, that's OK, too. Muhammed was OK. Anybody they wanted who told them that love, acceptance, understanding and peace were good, that's OK.

My oldest asked one more question: What's OM, Daddy?

As I tucked them in, I told them it was sound of the universe, the vibration of everything, Brahman, the past, present and future that binds everything together, the holiest of words, and that if they closed their eyes and concentrated, and listened to their very soul, they'd experience it.

"Dad," my oldest said as I flipped off the light, thinking I had reached my children in a golden parenting moment. "I just hear Mischa (our puppy) whining downstairs."

Thought: Wait until you hear me explain Christmas.

On the road again

Finally, I got my first bicycle ride of the season in. I'm two weeks behind last year because of bad weather and general sloth on my part. If I pedal faster, maybe I can catch up.

I took my favorite route for the inaugural event -- around Hutchins Lake on a 10-mile loop. It's a peaceful ride and the lake view is beautiful. Some of the cottages are still boarded up, but one was open and the occupants had a fire going in their fireplace. The smell of the smoke was comforting on this damp morning. I managed to dodge between rain drops for the ride.

The ducks and swans are all over the lake -- it was their kind of morning. Last year when I started riding, the lake still had large patches of ice on it. Not this year. It's wide open. The frogs are still calling in the marshes and forest and the red-winged blackbirds are perching on last year's corn field stubble.

The workers were just getting into the grape fields around FennValley Winery and a few farmers were out, but not in the muddy fields yet.

The whole ride had a damp, musty smell about it, but it was invigorating. The strong south wind was a challenge for part of the ride, but nice when I turned north.

That bicycle column

Besides enjoying the sights and smells, I was still running over in my mind my choice last year to cancel my bike column for this summer. I'm not sure I did it for the right reasons, or that I made the right choice.

I've done a column in The Holland Sentinel for a few years and really enjoyed it. It allowed me to mix two activities I crave -- bicycling and writing -- but I felt the whole endeavor wasn't being taken seriously by my coworkers and supervisor. Last year, they had an intern laying out my stories and he just butchered them. He wouldn't use the sidebars, maps or photos I submitted.

The columns were no masterpieces, I admit, but they were more than just a "Hey, I made this ride wasn't it great." Each column involved some research -- often hours of Internet work, phone interviews, personal stops to talk to people, time in local museums doing research, not to mention the ride time itself. Also, I would often go back over the ride later in my car to confirm mileage marks and get photos.

Note: I am a salaried employee and got no extra money or benefits from doing this column. It was all done on my own time with my own equipment. I didn't even get The Sentinel shirt I request. I wanted a shirt with the words "Holland Sentinel" emblazoned on the back so I could advertise the paper as I rode about the area.

Much of the feedback I got from my supervisor was sarcastic and uninspiring. If my physical appearance wasn't being made fun of (I know I'm not Adonis in my Spandex shorts, believe me), I was being blasted by my coworkers for not picking routes in Ottawa County areas. I kept telling them I live in Allegan County and Ottawa rides take more time and planning (I did do a few Ottawa routes last year, by the way). Seemed I often got mean-spirited jabs.

I received a commendation from the Allegan County Board of Commissioners for adding to the county's image in a positive way and promoting tourism. My supervisor's only comment involved the word "patsy." I sometimes sent him e-mails I received about the column, and my boss just asked me to stop because he didn't want to hear about them.

I did get support from the sports editor. He told me to take the time I needed for the columns and to take a break if I wanted to.

Ego

All this involves ego, something I need to control. I didn't feel I was getting the acknowledgement I deserved for adding value to the newspaper at no expense to the corporation. That's not the right reason, but I couldn't get around it. Remember that everything in the media, even at my level, is about ego and self importance. We wouldn't be in this field if we didn't have a need to garner attention and pats on the back.

Then I meditated on the words of Krishna -- that all work is to be done with the best ability for the glory of Brahman. Well, I felt I couldn't do my best under the circumstances.

We'll see if this riding season brings me to a new conclusion. It's a long summer.

Thought: Tomorrow never knows.

Way-back radio

I was listening to Beatlesarama on Itunes the other day and it was playing Beatles appearances on BBC radio, then a live George Harrison radio spot where he played “Here Comes the Sun” in the studio. It brought back some old feelings.

No, I’m not old enough to have listened to the original broadcasts, but I have a spot in my heart for radio. Some of my earliest memories are of my parents listening to AM radio in the morning before they went to work – news, weather, a few songs and many bad jokes. I can even recall some of the jingles for the DJs:

Stan Roberts, the corny DJ
He floats the jokes
Right down the drain.

He was from WGR-55 in Buffalo

There’s something about listening to people with a tinny, hollow reverberation in their voice. Sometimes, it’s like they’re talking under 12 feet of water. I still hear that sound when I think of me trying to tune in an oldies station from Toronto that played all the greats from the 1950s and 1960s. The DJ called himself Rockin’ Robin and he offered me my first taste of Elvis, Bobby Darin, The Platters through the static and whistle of bad mono radio.

I tried in high school to listen to the “cool” stations – I think it was 97 Rock – but didn’t like it very much. I ended up listening to adult contemporary, thus my working knowledge of the vast catalogs of Barry Manilow, Neil Diamond and Kenny Rogers. Thus my many memories of the chicks swarming all over me.

Sports

Radio has always been great for sports. I love listening to football and hockey over the airwaves. It takes some imagination, but a good broadcaster can paint the picture for me of a long drive down the field for a last-second touchdown. Van Miller will always be the voice of the Bills and Rick Azar of the Sabres.

Hockey is tough on an announcer because it moves faster than any other major sport, but I love an announcer who can yell out a good goal – “He shoots! He scooooooooores!” The flip side is the bad announcer and a great goal. The announcer for the Grand Rapids Griffins is terrible. He sounds like he’s got the hiccups while driving down a dirt road in a septic tank – “ScoooOOOOoooOOOoooOOOresss!”

I stopped listening to radio for weather reports along time ago. I either watch the reports on TV (since you can’t swing a cat without hitting a weather update) or listen to NOAA radio for “real” reports.

What did me in on radio weather is the false sense of caring the DJs have. How many times do you hear someone warm and snug in their studio telling you to drive carefully out there in a blizzard?
You know, if I stopped one of those guys on the sidewalk and asked for a quarter so I could have a meal after being stranded on a lifeless rock in the South Pacific for 6 months, they’d have me arrested for panhandling.

Thought: Video didn't kill the radio star, it was the butler.

Spring Break Survival

Day 1 if Freedom: We survived Spring Break. No one broke any bones and no one resorted to canibalism. The children are back in school today.

On Thursday, I took the day off of work to watch the girls while Jayne was at work and her mom out of town. I took them to the Allegan County Children's Museum just down the road and they had a blast. Then, they played outside for a few hours until a late dinner.

I never realized how daunting the Spring Break can be. The children have to entertained and educated (can't leave them in front of the TV all day), and the weather is iffy at best. Last week, we had rain, snow and high winds with unseasonably low temperatures. So much for playing outside. And who's got the money to take the kids all over town? If I could afford a week of Crazy Bounce, movie theaters and shopping, then Jayne wouldn't have to work and we'd travel somewhere.

Thought: At least no one got hurt.

Book 'em, Dan-o

I see the makers of Sesame Street are under fire for marketing a video to children under 2 years old. Experts say children that young shouldn't be watching TV at all and that Sesame Street is out to make a buck.

Yes on both counts, but, as my mom says, let's be real.

First, I don't mind that The Children's Television Workshop folks will be making money. If it goes back to the good programming on "Sesame Street," then that's OK. I have some qualms with the TV show, but I'm glad my kids watched it. I watched it, too, and don't think I'm the worse for it.

Second, I agree that kids, especially between birth and 2, should not be exposed to TV, but you really can't stop it. The TV in this house is on for a good chunk of the day (it could be The Weather Channel, CNN, "All My Children" or Nickeloldeon), and if a young Sesame Street video allows me to bond with a 1-year-old while we sit together in the chair, that's cool.

When Elspeth was that young, I sat with her while I watched "Hawaii Five-O" for an hour. We also watched "Columbo" together too while I held her and she relaxed. No wonder her first words were, "Book 'em, Dan-o" and "Just one more thing. ..."

I use discretion with the kids when I watch TV. We were not watching overly violent or sexual shows when they were younger, and we don't today. I think the "experts" ought to come out of their ivory towers and walk into the world of overly stressed, over-worked parents who struggle in reality, not theory, every day.

More bookin' 'em

I finished reading my latest book, "The Punic Wars," by Adrian Goldsworthy. Good read. Though he broke the wars into the three, he didn't go chronologically from battle to battle. Instead, he took trends and developments and discussed them within each conflict. Hey, who doesn't like 30 pages on Roman shipbuilding and the how quinqueremes were rowed?

I find the Roman Republic and its demise fascinating. Some might say there are lessons to be learned there for present day America. Some might.

Right after I finished Goldsworthy's book, I read a children's book I got for the girls called "Who Were The Beatles?" I couldn't resist picking it up at the school book fair a few weeks back. It's designed for an elementary student and is pretty accurate. It now has my stamp of approval and I'll work in to the Beatles curriculum for the kids.

Next book for me?

I pulled out Trotsky's "History of the Russian Revolution." I haven't read it since college. I need cheering up.

Thought: Permanent Revolution? I think that involves TV.

Spring Break Diary 2

Day 5: Did not go to the aquatic center Monday. Instead, had a nice lunch with Jayne then I took the kids to spend a few hours at the Saugatuck-Douglas library. Pretty empty and we had a great time. Sun came out in the late afternoon and the kids played outside.

Tuesday we went to aquatic center. Oh, the stupidity. As anticipated, it was shoulder-to-shoulder people. Rude people. I got smacked in the face with a ball and the offenders thought it was funny. Another kid kicked me in the leg and almost blew out me knee. She said nothing. I couldn't count the times I was stepped on, smacked or run into without so much as an excuse me. Elspeth wanted to go right away. Alyssa had a little more fun because her friend Oscar was there with his family, but she quickly tired of the masses. Seems the rule was let the beasts run free while the parents sat on the bleachers reading magazines.

Five more days of spring break.

Thought: Five more days of spring break.

Spring Break Diary

Day 4: Trapped in house with two children. Nothing to do, they say. Too much TV. Rain. Cold temperatures. Help!!!

Spring Break is under way and the kids are already driving me crazy. Finding things for them to do has stretched my imagination, almost snapped my patience and is about to break my wallet. Today, we're meeting my wife for lunch and will go to the Holland Community Aquatic Center. Every other parent in West Michigan will do the same thing on this cold, rainy day. It will be shoulder-to-shoulder in the water with a decibel level of a 747 on takeoff.

Yesterday we took the dogs to the dog park in Saugatuck, but it started to rain so we had to leave.

After dinner, we went for a walk, but it rained and the sudden cloud burst drenched us.

Only another six days to go. The weather forecast is for six days of rain.

Thought: Help!