When I was but fifteen years of age my father gave unto me... a truck. This truck had some minor problem that the last mechanic had assured us he would set right.
The truck was delivered to the mechanic for said minor repair.
Fast forward three years. The truck still sat in a field of weeds behind the mechanics. But now my father and I were pretty insistent that the damn thing finally be fixed or his butt was going to be seeing the inside of a courtroom.
The vehicle was fixed, only the innards had rusted out beyond any hope of repair... unbeknownst to me. The vehicle died within a year, without hope of rescusitation.
Fast forward fifteen years. The front of my piano was been removed for some minor repair that the technician has assured us he will set right.
30.06.2005
28.06.2005
Yada yada yada
In Basic you're told not to do a whole mess of things, for instance:
"Don't try and squeeze your scrawny butt through that window, just because it's the girls showers over there."
"Don't do what I say, do what I mean!"
and the mother of them all:
"Don't piss me off."
I, personally, received: "Wipe that smile off your face," more times than I can count.
At any rate, one of the more stupid ones was, "Don't use NeverDull on your belt buckles... it makes the regulation nickle look like chrome."
Now, maybe I was taking a chance here that could've gotten my butt sent straight to hell via savage pummelling, but I couldn't let something like that just slide... I had to try it. To find out if anyone really noticed.
So, while on guard duty, I whipped out a belt and gave it a good going over. It was beautiful. It glowed. I put it back and thought about what I'd done. It could be a really bad thing. I could wash back to some group 6 weeks back (since this happened in the last week of Basic, when you constantly wear your dress uniform). That'd suck. How can I change the current situation?
So I buffed up my flight leaders belt. And the line leaders belts. And I did those so that they made their own light, putting the full moon to shame. You could light a fire with those things.
Anyway, the next day came along and the yelling commenced. But each one, sweating tears, could honestly say that he had not buffed those suckers up. The Training Instructor came my way, with an even pace, looking at belts... and he walked right past.
The guy 2 down got his butt chewed, though.
"Don't try and squeeze your scrawny butt through that window, just because it's the girls showers over there."
"Don't do what I say, do what I mean!"
and the mother of them all:
"Don't piss me off."
I, personally, received: "Wipe that smile off your face," more times than I can count.
At any rate, one of the more stupid ones was, "Don't use NeverDull on your belt buckles... it makes the regulation nickle look like chrome."
Now, maybe I was taking a chance here that could've gotten my butt sent straight to hell via savage pummelling, but I couldn't let something like that just slide... I had to try it. To find out if anyone really noticed.
So, while on guard duty, I whipped out a belt and gave it a good going over. It was beautiful. It glowed. I put it back and thought about what I'd done. It could be a really bad thing. I could wash back to some group 6 weeks back (since this happened in the last week of Basic, when you constantly wear your dress uniform). That'd suck. How can I change the current situation?
So I buffed up my flight leaders belt. And the line leaders belts. And I did those so that they made their own light, putting the full moon to shame. You could light a fire with those things.
Anyway, the next day came along and the yelling commenced. But each one, sweating tears, could honestly say that he had not buffed those suckers up. The Training Instructor came my way, with an even pace, looking at belts... and he walked right past.
The guy 2 down got his butt chewed, though.
27.06.2005
Here we go again...
Another "Hulk" PC game is on the way. It doesn't look like a movie tie-in (someone PLEASE tell me they aren't making another "Hulk" movie... please!), but it promises to to suck just as badly as any before, which begs the question:
Can a licensed property become a good video game?
Things like comic books and movies sway big-time toward "No". I don't even know of any book adaptations that weren't movies first (James Bond, "From Russia With Love" is a good example). Don't point me toward the HHGTTG text adventure, or I will slap you with... a herring.
There is the exception of the "Lord of the Rings" games. While they weren't all superb, they managed to be better than passable as games. I tend to credit Peter Jackson with this, and with his love of Middle Earth. I can think of no other exceptions.
Can a licensed property become a good video game?
Things like comic books and movies sway big-time toward "No". I don't even know of any book adaptations that weren't movies first (James Bond, "From Russia With Love" is a good example). Don't point me toward the HHGTTG text adventure, or I will slap you with... a herring.
There is the exception of the "Lord of the Rings" games. While they weren't all superb, they managed to be better than passable as games. I tend to credit Peter Jackson with this, and with his love of Middle Earth. I can think of no other exceptions.
25.06.2005
In Hominy
I love music. Fear my collection, which wanders from "Hayseed Dixie" to "Doris Day", from Creedance to Megadeth. True, I don't listen to much instrumental stuff, but within the vocals I'm remarkably diverse. Having recently read a post from Ivy covered walls on the topic, I perused my collection.
And before anyone asks, none of my MP3s were illegally gained. Hell no.
We've got Mozart and Beethoven, Apocalyptica, Baby Einstein, and Catherine Wheel. MC 900 Foot Jesus and Brian Ferry.
And Al. "Weird" Al.
Everything that man has ever spawned musically resides in my house somewhere. Someday I'll have that man's babies.
And before anyone asks, none of my MP3s were illegally gained. Hell no.
We've got Mozart and Beethoven, Apocalyptica, Baby Einstein, and Catherine Wheel. MC 900 Foot Jesus and Brian Ferry.
And Al. "Weird" Al.
Everything that man has ever spawned musically resides in my house somewhere. Someday I'll have that man's babies.
I love this race!
Humanity has it going on. Oh, sure there's the odd missing teen in a tropic paradise, kids locking themselves in a car trunk and dying, or whathaveyou... but we've managed to do some amazing things. I'll list a few of my recent favorites later, but I'd like to give an honorable mention to these folk. The agony of defeat +1.
If it isn't obvious, I groove on the solar sail concept.
If it isn't obvious, I groove on the solar sail concept.
23.06.2005
Question
Did Paulie Shore actually make a movie where people in Hollywood didn't care if he was dead... and then sell it?
Alot
So I went out to pick up some sheet music, and what did I get?
A slide whistle.
There's few items out there that are just filled with childhood glee like the slide whistle. Could you own one of these things and not just grin like a ninny once in a while, knowing it's waiting for you?
This and the prism I picked up about 6 mos ago rank up there as cheap but wonderful.
A slide whistle.
There's few items out there that are just filled with childhood glee like the slide whistle. Could you own one of these things and not just grin like a ninny once in a while, knowing it's waiting for you?
This and the prism I picked up about 6 mos ago rank up there as cheap but wonderful.
17.06.2005
R.E.M.
Tonight I bought ice.
You might ask yourself, "so what? I buy ice all the time."
Fake ice.
Let that sink in for a moment.
I remember thinking something along the lines of "props. Must have props," but that's the best I can think of as to why.
I've done this intermittently my whole life. I collect things, this is true, but sometimes I pick up a white ball and think, "if I cut this in half, used a little paint, shellaced the front, and put it at the end of an optic tube (think "telescope") it'd make a really cool peephole for my door. I'd have to cut the door so that it had a recess, and a cushion on the end for those shmucks that'd hit the ball..."
And then I wander off with it and never do a damn thing about it. And this has been happening my whole life. Not just with little white balls. Old circuit boards, pieces of plywood, the curved glass from an old monitor... the list is staggering.
Currently I'm trying to get a degree in biomedical engineering, but it might not pan out. My wife says that there's a big gap between theatrical engineering (mechanical effects) and my current path, but I don't believe it. Not fully. I realize there might not be much in the way of anatomy, but surely physics and chemistry would be important.
Anyone got any clues on this topic?
You might ask yourself, "so what? I buy ice all the time."
Fake ice.
Let that sink in for a moment.
I remember thinking something along the lines of "props. Must have props," but that's the best I can think of as to why.
I've done this intermittently my whole life. I collect things, this is true, but sometimes I pick up a white ball and think, "if I cut this in half, used a little paint, shellaced the front, and put it at the end of an optic tube (think "telescope") it'd make a really cool peephole for my door. I'd have to cut the door so that it had a recess, and a cushion on the end for those shmucks that'd hit the ball..."
And then I wander off with it and never do a damn thing about it. And this has been happening my whole life. Not just with little white balls. Old circuit boards, pieces of plywood, the curved glass from an old monitor... the list is staggering.
Currently I'm trying to get a degree in biomedical engineering, but it might not pan out. My wife says that there's a big gap between theatrical engineering (mechanical effects) and my current path, but I don't believe it. Not fully. I realize there might not be much in the way of anatomy, but surely physics and chemistry would be important.
Anyone got any clues on this topic?
Love is all around
I'd often wonder, when I was younger, what kind of father I'd be.
This was not the pasttime of my peers, who would simply shrug and see.
Sorry... been reading Dr. Seuss lately. Quite a bit, really.
My kids, in the afternoons particularly, play with building toys or hotwheels cars. About once a week we watch a movie (as long as you don't count the littlest's "Baby Einstein" at night before bed).
After we pick up the wife from work we've taken to playing baseball and golf in the front yard... tomorrow we should plop down the wading pool before giving a shot at the real thing.
I must've read something like 7 books to the youngest today. Ultra reads his own, and was asking for Math help. Super does a bit of both, getting stories at bedtime but managing his own through most of the day.
We sometimes play the piano, or talk about computer programming. I've got art books I use for myself, and Super manages to use shading sometimes.
Tonight, while reading "The Thinks You Can Think" (one of the best Dr. Seuss books around), it struck me that I really am a good dad.
And my family loves me.
This was not the pasttime of my peers, who would simply shrug and see.
Sorry... been reading Dr. Seuss lately. Quite a bit, really.
My kids, in the afternoons particularly, play with building toys or hotwheels cars. About once a week we watch a movie (as long as you don't count the littlest's "Baby Einstein" at night before bed).
After we pick up the wife from work we've taken to playing baseball and golf in the front yard... tomorrow we should plop down the wading pool before giving a shot at the real thing.
I must've read something like 7 books to the youngest today. Ultra reads his own, and was asking for Math help. Super does a bit of both, getting stories at bedtime but managing his own through most of the day.
We sometimes play the piano, or talk about computer programming. I've got art books I use for myself, and Super manages to use shading sometimes.
Tonight, while reading "The Thinks You Can Think" (one of the best Dr. Seuss books around), it struck me that I really am a good dad.
And my family loves me.
15.06.2005
Sinister laughter included
Just got done watching, of all things, Revenge of the Sith. It sucked.
Which might've been what my wife and I needed, but maybe not you. We couldn't stop laughing. It was supposed to be this dark, violent film... but it was too funny to take that way.
The acting was bad (someone should throw Christian Hayden into lava). There are a few good actors, like that Skippy guy (Jimmy Smitz, I think) and Ian McKellan or whatever. And Yoda. Although the parts with him monologing? Annoying, those were.
My dead grandmother writes better scripts. This one feels like it was written on the back of Lucas' hand in between shots, beginning with the words "wouldn't it be cool..."
It is a big hunk of eye candy.
There's a particular part where George was trying to pummel us with just how bad Annikin had become, but it comes up so abruptly that it rings false.
**Spoiler warning**
Children come to Annikin during the assault on the Jedi temple and ask what they should do. Annikin activates his lightsabre, and the door shuts on the scene. The implication is that he kills them... but it comes up so quickly after his conversion, and they aren't (forgive the term) military targets. As a former Jedi he should've stopped short here. The children were not Jedi yet, had not received much if any tutelage, and certainly weren't in on the plot to gain control of the Empire (nes Republic). It seems an unnecessary element.
I won't even go into how idiotic Annikin seems for falling for Sith arguments, nor for not catching the "Sith Lord Plagus the Wise" difficulties.
Largely I have enjoyed Ewan McGregor's portrayal of Obi-Wan, but even that cracks. At a moment in the film Ewan smiles, and it breaks the illusion. It is a distinctly
not an Alec Guiness smile.
And let us not forget the "Frankenstein" homage that is the Darth Vader scene... the one where he is first awakening from the surgery.
My wife and I giggled so hard.
And, finally, two words:
Frilled Lizard.
Which might've been what my wife and I needed, but maybe not you. We couldn't stop laughing. It was supposed to be this dark, violent film... but it was too funny to take that way.
The acting was bad (someone should throw Christian Hayden into lava). There are a few good actors, like that Skippy guy (Jimmy Smitz, I think) and Ian McKellan or whatever. And Yoda. Although the parts with him monologing? Annoying, those were.
My dead grandmother writes better scripts. This one feels like it was written on the back of Lucas' hand in between shots, beginning with the words "wouldn't it be cool..."
It is a big hunk of eye candy.
There's a particular part where George was trying to pummel us with just how bad Annikin had become, but it comes up so abruptly that it rings false.
**Spoiler warning**
Children come to Annikin during the assault on the Jedi temple and ask what they should do. Annikin activates his lightsabre, and the door shuts on the scene. The implication is that he kills them... but it comes up so quickly after his conversion, and they aren't (forgive the term) military targets. As a former Jedi he should've stopped short here. The children were not Jedi yet, had not received much if any tutelage, and certainly weren't in on the plot to gain control of the Empire (nes Republic). It seems an unnecessary element.
I won't even go into how idiotic Annikin seems for falling for Sith arguments, nor for not catching the "Sith Lord Plagus the Wise" difficulties.
Largely I have enjoyed Ewan McGregor's portrayal of Obi-Wan, but even that cracks. At a moment in the film Ewan smiles, and it breaks the illusion. It is a distinctly
not an Alec Guiness smile.
And let us not forget the "Frankenstein" homage that is the Darth Vader scene... the one where he is first awakening from the surgery.
My wife and I giggled so hard.
And, finally, two words:
Frilled Lizard.
14.06.2005
mkay?
Got that DSL stuff hooked up with little hitch. Well, okay... I had to replace my network card with an actual network card. And the cable they gave us was too short by a factor of 3. And the USB cable for my wife is too short by a factor of 4 (so she can't use it until her wireless modem is installed). And the inflight movie was "Biodome".
But now I get to feel like I can hold my own with some of the goobers online that pasted my sorry but when I was 56k (which is about 200k in the hole by their accounts).
So I'm going to.
But now I get to feel like I can hold my own with some of the goobers online that pasted my sorry but when I was 56k (which is about 200k in the hole by their accounts).
So I'm going to.
08.06.2005
05.06.2005
Look, up in the sky...
My youngest has been running around naked, particularly up and down our hall. I respond the way my father would, by yelling:
"Don't look, Ethel!*"
Ultrason has decided that AD&D is too hard for him to run, and he doesn't really like it. "Do we have something easier?"
I've already shown him "Magic: The Gathering," to which he's gotten a few friends addicted (and so spreadeth the curse), but he's looking for an RPG, something a notch above comedy games.
I offer him the simplest RPG I can think of: "Advanced Marvel Superheroes."
He gives it the thumbs up, and it should be interesting (if he gets that far) to see him run "Day of the Octopus".
*Ray Stevens, "The Streak"
"Don't look, Ethel!*"
Ultrason has decided that AD&D is too hard for him to run, and he doesn't really like it. "Do we have something easier?"
I've already shown him "Magic: The Gathering," to which he's gotten a few friends addicted (and so spreadeth the curse), but he's looking for an RPG, something a notch above comedy games.
I offer him the simplest RPG I can think of: "Advanced Marvel Superheroes."
He gives it the thumbs up, and it should be interesting (if he gets that far) to see him run "Day of the Octopus".
*Ray Stevens, "The Streak"
Notorious
Yesterday we went to the pool, which my wife has a prescription for (swimming, that is), and it turned out to be closed for mechanical reasons. We all walked away disappointed, particularly the kids, and I thought that was kind of a bummer.
Hah!
At 2:30 AM my wife smacks my leg sort of gently: "Sweetheart," she says, "this one's worse than before, and I'm too dizzy to move."
She's massaging her heart, and my brain is working on a half-piston. But it fires enough to say, "what? What do you need?"
"Call the doctor, 911."
Suddenly the war room in my brain has all those red lights flashing, but the staff is all on lunch break. Frick. Frick-a-frick.
Somehow I manage getting the phone into my hand and dialing, I've also managed to refill my wife's water (?) and grab the phone number of a friend to watch our kids (she told me to do that, but I don't remember it happening).
"911 dispatch..." yada, yada. No, no, name-the-medication game, heart problem. Still awake, talking, yeah.
About 5 minutes later an ambulance is in our drive way, friends are on the way to watch the kids, and I'm wondering if anyone needs me for anything. I'm offering to get the paramedics coffee or something... from Brazil. "Is that wall in your way? Need me to move it for you?"
They stop her heart for the second time in her life. I can hear the monitor, but I can't see past the technicians to my wife.
Then her heart starts again. It's a little slow initially, but it builds up.
The friends leave their daughter at my house while I collect gear for what could be an all day event and head out. The kids are still asleep.
I get to the hospital and my wife has just gotten there ahead of me, they've got her in a bed and nothing major is happening. The doctor has a pretty good sense of humor and let's us know that there's no reason in particular for this to have happened, save that my wife double-dosed on the BCPs (birth control pills) and the estrogen spike might have done it. Since the last time happened during a pregnancy that sounds reasonable.
We get home around 4:46am, and a teen girl is curled up on our couch, sleeping on the phone.
The kids are still asleep, and don't know anything yet of what happened.
Hah!
At 2:30 AM my wife smacks my leg sort of gently: "Sweetheart," she says, "this one's worse than before, and I'm too dizzy to move."
She's massaging her heart, and my brain is working on a half-piston. But it fires enough to say, "what? What do you need?"
"Call the doctor, 911."
Suddenly the war room in my brain has all those red lights flashing, but the staff is all on lunch break. Frick. Frick-a-frick.
Somehow I manage getting the phone into my hand and dialing, I've also managed to refill my wife's water (?) and grab the phone number of a friend to watch our kids (she told me to do that, but I don't remember it happening).
"911 dispatch..." yada, yada. No, no, name-the-medication game, heart problem. Still awake, talking, yeah.
About 5 minutes later an ambulance is in our drive way, friends are on the way to watch the kids, and I'm wondering if anyone needs me for anything. I'm offering to get the paramedics coffee or something... from Brazil. "Is that wall in your way? Need me to move it for you?"
They stop her heart for the second time in her life. I can hear the monitor, but I can't see past the technicians to my wife.
Then her heart starts again. It's a little slow initially, but it builds up.
The friends leave their daughter at my house while I collect gear for what could be an all day event and head out. The kids are still asleep.
I get to the hospital and my wife has just gotten there ahead of me, they've got her in a bed and nothing major is happening. The doctor has a pretty good sense of humor and let's us know that there's no reason in particular for this to have happened, save that my wife double-dosed on the BCPs (birth control pills) and the estrogen spike might have done it. Since the last time happened during a pregnancy that sounds reasonable.
We get home around 4:46am, and a teen girl is curled up on our couch, sleeping on the phone.
The kids are still asleep, and don't know anything yet of what happened.
04.06.2005
WDSL
No, I will not be starting a high-speed internet radio station, but it sounds like fun doesn't it?
We're considering (read: have ordered) a faster connection for our home. At first I thought that my wife's work was footing the bill, since she works from home.
Nope.
But, hey, it's only another 7 bucks a month, so that's not bad. And we more than double our speed with a dedicated line that'll be our phone and internet connection, plus we'll be doing the wireless networking thing, so it's all very convenient and inexpensive.
And then I passed the one of many MMORPGs over at the local Target-Mart.
I'm getting the shakes.
One of the reasons I don't play MMORPGs, aside from expense, is that my connection makes me fodder for the gun-toting goobers that seem to populate every corner of those places. I've played 3 games, let's go around the room.
Ultima Online: I played a farmer. I'll admit that it wasn't the most happening character on the planet, but I was happy. Until some punks ran over my bean patch. I chased them, waving my hoe, until they killed me. There was no discussion, no "I'm sorry", not even a few gold for my trouble.
No One Lives Forever: It's a fun spy game, really. If you haven't played it, you should grab a 5 dollar version of the game (game of the year edition, even) and play the heck out of it. It's tres silly, but worth it. Get online and the spy part is removed, leaving you with bushwackers and deathdealers. God help you if you don't have at least a 256K modem. Aim for T1. Frick.
Aliens vs. Predator 2: What did I expect? It is decidedly a combat game, but the people online lack the subtlety that I aspire to. And the people on your side shoot you. Again, Frick. The original game is slick, and the atmosphere in it and the original is to die for. It simply doesn't get better than either of them (exception: Predator mode in the original stinks compared to the sequal). I do not blame them.
Much of what I've heard of online gaming does not change my opinion of it. I've not begged my wife for this, nor have I hunted down opportunities to purchase "World of Warcraft". Or "City of Heroes". I'll cover my addiction to 4-color comics at some future point.
If anyone has a copy of "Freedom Fighters," though, I'd appreciate a hand-off. Maybe I can sling something at you in return.
At any rate, while I might explore free servers (I could really use some more V:tM interaction online), I don't really get why anyone would pay for... what's that? Oh, constantly improved game play in an expanding world that evolves at the same time.
>sigh<
We're considering (read: have ordered) a faster connection for our home. At first I thought that my wife's work was footing the bill, since she works from home.
Nope.
But, hey, it's only another 7 bucks a month, so that's not bad. And we more than double our speed with a dedicated line that'll be our phone and internet connection, plus we'll be doing the wireless networking thing, so it's all very convenient and inexpensive.
And then I passed the one of many MMORPGs over at the local Target-Mart.
I'm getting the shakes.
One of the reasons I don't play MMORPGs, aside from expense, is that my connection makes me fodder for the gun-toting goobers that seem to populate every corner of those places. I've played 3 games, let's go around the room.
Ultima Online: I played a farmer. I'll admit that it wasn't the most happening character on the planet, but I was happy. Until some punks ran over my bean patch. I chased them, waving my hoe, until they killed me. There was no discussion, no "I'm sorry", not even a few gold for my trouble.
No One Lives Forever: It's a fun spy game, really. If you haven't played it, you should grab a 5 dollar version of the game (game of the year edition, even) and play the heck out of it. It's tres silly, but worth it. Get online and the spy part is removed, leaving you with bushwackers and deathdealers. God help you if you don't have at least a 256K modem. Aim for T1. Frick.
Aliens vs. Predator 2: What did I expect? It is decidedly a combat game, but the people online lack the subtlety that I aspire to. And the people on your side shoot you. Again, Frick. The original game is slick, and the atmosphere in it and the original is to die for. It simply doesn't get better than either of them (exception: Predator mode in the original stinks compared to the sequal). I do not blame them.
Much of what I've heard of online gaming does not change my opinion of it. I've not begged my wife for this, nor have I hunted down opportunities to purchase "World of Warcraft". Or "City of Heroes". I'll cover my addiction to 4-color comics at some future point.
If anyone has a copy of "Freedom Fighters," though, I'd appreciate a hand-off. Maybe I can sling something at you in return.
At any rate, while I might explore free servers (I could really use some more V:tM interaction online), I don't really get why anyone would pay for... what's that? Oh, constantly improved game play in an expanding world that evolves at the same time.
>sigh<
01.06.2005
Sonuva
A few days ago we purchased a piano, with the understanding that they would deliver, and I volunteered to assist instead of paying fifty bucks.
Stupid, stupid, stupid.
The gentleman arrived at shortly after 2 pm. I'd spoken to him several times on the phone, and he sounded like Wolfman Jack. This kept superson in stitches, and he often asks if we're going to talk to Wolfman. At any rate, our youngest went down for his nap. That's really nice. Superson runs outside and lays down in the shade of the twig that passes for a tree in our front yard while this guy tells me to get behind... no to the left, your other... why don't you get on the other side and stradle the dolly while I... oh hell.
See, he told me to push and, being the dummy that I am, I pushed. The first thing he told me was that we had to get the piano, about the size of a dresser, with the weight of a Buick and without the convenience of wheels, onto the dolly. He positioned me behind the piano because I was the skinniest of the two (which is necessary for getting into the van past the piano), and I don't think he expected me to push very hard. Unfortunately I've been reading alot about Bruce Lee and Marines lately, which gets a body kind of psyched. I pushed with all my pythons, guns, or whatever other euphemism you might want to use for the licorice whips that are my arms could muster. The piano exited the van.
It missed the dolly. Fortunately, Mr. Man was under it, cushioning the thing from the concrete. I think he broke a rib.
Anyway, we managed to lift the thing onto the dolly (go us) after some serious screaming, a bit of cussing, and more than one comment about owing drinks.
About this time, superson lifts himself up out of the shade, "can I help?"
"No."
"Please?"
"How about you go inside and keep Ultrason occupied?"
"Okay!"
He then preceeds to run laps around us while we try and maneuver about 3000 pounds of mahogany and metal up steps. This is not an easy time, and we take about 20 minutes doing it, but it's not the worst step of the process.
"Homestretch," he says. "How about we lift it over the railing here?"
"We can't get it down the hall upright," I ask.
"I don't think so."
"How about we do some rethinking?"
Wolfman grabs a tape measure while I hold the piano ("don't leave the piano! Don't EVER leave the piano!") and stares at it intently. "I'd say we've got maybe half an inch of room," he offers.
"Let's do it."
In case I haven't made the weight of this thing abundantly clear, let me offer a simile: "Like pushing a landed adult blue whale back into the sea."
Other words, my father called them "active adjectives" come to mind.
We made it all the way through by taking 20 minute breaks every 20 inches. About halfway I offered to get him something to drink (just water, okay?) and considered convincing my wife that we want a behemoth half way down the hall.
I'd like to pause and say that the damnable leviathan has WHEELS, but we can't use them on carpet. So we had to carry it. Oh, and the legs will snap right off if you put any weight on them. Purely decorative.
So, we get it in place, and we have piano. We can't open our backdoor, we have to have specialist tune the thing every five seconds (kids) and get a humidifier unless we feel like having it tuned every 2 seconds, my back feels like I've been runover, and the kids absolutely love jumping on it (creating more noise than was witnessed at that little Normandy get together during WWII), but we've got a piano!
Stupid, stupid, stupid.
The gentleman arrived at shortly after 2 pm. I'd spoken to him several times on the phone, and he sounded like Wolfman Jack. This kept superson in stitches, and he often asks if we're going to talk to Wolfman. At any rate, our youngest went down for his nap. That's really nice. Superson runs outside and lays down in the shade of the twig that passes for a tree in our front yard while this guy tells me to get behind... no to the left, your other... why don't you get on the other side and stradle the dolly while I... oh hell.
See, he told me to push and, being the dummy that I am, I pushed. The first thing he told me was that we had to get the piano, about the size of a dresser, with the weight of a Buick and without the convenience of wheels, onto the dolly. He positioned me behind the piano because I was the skinniest of the two (which is necessary for getting into the van past the piano), and I don't think he expected me to push very hard. Unfortunately I've been reading alot about Bruce Lee and Marines lately, which gets a body kind of psyched. I pushed with all my pythons, guns, or whatever other euphemism you might want to use for the licorice whips that are my arms could muster. The piano exited the van.
It missed the dolly. Fortunately, Mr. Man was under it, cushioning the thing from the concrete. I think he broke a rib.
Anyway, we managed to lift the thing onto the dolly (go us) after some serious screaming, a bit of cussing, and more than one comment about owing drinks.
About this time, superson lifts himself up out of the shade, "can I help?"
"No."
"Please?"
"How about you go inside and keep Ultrason occupied?"
"Okay!"
He then preceeds to run laps around us while we try and maneuver about 3000 pounds of mahogany and metal up steps. This is not an easy time, and we take about 20 minutes doing it, but it's not the worst step of the process.
"Homestretch," he says. "How about we lift it over the railing here?"
"We can't get it down the hall upright," I ask.
"I don't think so."
"How about we do some rethinking?"
Wolfman grabs a tape measure while I hold the piano ("don't leave the piano! Don't EVER leave the piano!") and stares at it intently. "I'd say we've got maybe half an inch of room," he offers.
"Let's do it."
In case I haven't made the weight of this thing abundantly clear, let me offer a simile: "Like pushing a landed adult blue whale back into the sea."
Other words, my father called them "active adjectives" come to mind.
We made it all the way through by taking 20 minute breaks every 20 inches. About halfway I offered to get him something to drink (just water, okay?) and considered convincing my wife that we want a behemoth half way down the hall.
I'd like to pause and say that the damnable leviathan has WHEELS, but we can't use them on carpet. So we had to carry it. Oh, and the legs will snap right off if you put any weight on them. Purely decorative.
So, we get it in place, and we have piano. We can't open our backdoor, we have to have specialist tune the thing every five seconds (kids) and get a humidifier unless we feel like having it tuned every 2 seconds, my back feels like I've been runover, and the kids absolutely love jumping on it (creating more noise than was witnessed at that little Normandy get together during WWII), but we've got a piano!
footnote: Mr. Man left with only a slight limp. I'll have to work on my aim.
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