The Northward Contrail

A mouth full of shovel-ready projects

Well, the first half of it's done, and the worst of it is over.  That's the dental appointment of yesterday I'm talking about.  The fun part? It didn't take long, and it didn't really hurt as it happened.  The doc jacked me up with plenty Novocain (and assured me there was a lot more where that came from, if needed) and set to work.  Since both sides of my mouth needed work, he didn't want to do all the work yesterday and leave my mouth pretty much useless for the rest of the day, so I go back in a month for the other half of the work.

That said, the big stuff is done, and for that I'm happy.  The tooth that was missing a pretty good chunk had really been bothering me.  So that was the first order of business.  The doc drilled back there for a while, and I was nervous about it.  The last time I'd been drilled, the dentist who did it managed to find the places that made me jump.  This guy, though, was gentle and the drugs were good.  Drill away, Doc.

Finally he got things bored out where he wanted them.  (When he took a break, I ran my tongue back where the broken area had been, and it was weird feeling this bored-out area back there.  Spooky!)  I was warned that a root canal may be in the cards in a few years because the damage went pretty deep, but the doc said he'd try his best to fix things to minimize that possibility.  Before filling everything in, he coated the bored-out area with some treatment material, and then set to work with the dental resin.  A few minutes later, my tooth had four corners again, and after final shaping and finishing it was good again.  He was so good that I didn't realize he'd done a second tooth until he told me "Okay, you can go home now."  The mouth dope wore off a few hours later, so until then I walked around feeling like the Tears for Fears guy, but when the dope wore off all was well.

So that's done, and I'm relieved.  There are three teeth left to fix, but according to the doc, they won't require a lot of work and some of them won't even require being numbed up.  I'm relieved that the big work is done.  Now I just hope that treatment takes, and that I won't end up going through a root canal down the road.  If you have spare fingers, please cross 'em for me.

:: This episode of existential dread is brought to you by Western Electric  I don't know what kind of chutzpah has been in me of late, but I've been having to use the phone more, initiate calls and everything, and the immersion has been good for me.  Yesterday, for instance, I had to initiate three phone calls for various reasons, and I was getting nonchalant about it.  One of them was to the gift shop at the Edwards AFB Museum, the one place where it's possible to get Muroc Models products.  I needed a couple of the Muroc decal sheets for the R4D project, and they hadn't answered my e-mail out to the museum, so I gave them a call yesterday. I ended up talking to a really nice lady in the gift shop and had a wonderful conversation with her.  (Gee whiz, how I can turn on the charm sometimes despite myself!  You should have heard how repulsively smilin' and small-talkin' I was with the DirecTV representative last week trying to get the new box activated.  I almost made myself sick listening to myself joking with the rep.)  And now it's all sorted out, and the little airplane will have her decals soon. 

So why do I dread this stuff?  Good question.

:: Miss Brahms is free at last  Wendy Richard died the other day.  An actress with many roles to her credit over the last several decades, but to me she'll always be the lovely Miss Brahms on the beloved Are You Being Served?

And then the bad luck hit

Things got bizarre yesterday afternoon.  I'm hoping it got the bad stuff out of the way before today's dental fun.

Up until about 1 pm, things went okay.  Then I went to teach the last class of the day, and that began with about 10 minutes spent discussing the pregnant man story, for whatever reason.  (And from there it sort of turned into a discussion about variations of gender and sexuality, what defines gender, the process of going from A to B, etc., etc.  Perhaps I'm jaded, or perhaps living in South Florida was an immersion crash course in diversity, but stories like the pregnant man get the Daria shrug from me.  [By the way, is it out of place here for me to hope Daria will get the full DVD treatment sooner rather than later?  I loved that show.]  It really doesn't bother me, and I'm too busy minding my own life.  I think the kids were a bit amused by my nonchalance about it and my "hey, do whatever you want" attitude, but give them 10 or 15 years and bigger things to worry about in their own lives, and I have a feeling they'll be the same, too.)

Then after work, to the post office.  Three windows, two of them open, both occupied by customers engaged in various paperwork.  And the line is growing.  It takes me 10 minutes to mail off a package that cost me a dollar and a half in postage.  (Hmmm...what does one of them Pitney Bowes deals run for?  Or at least a postal scale so I can calculate postage and take care of it at home via the Interwebs.  Must go by Office Depot or something one day.)

And then to drug store for...well, an item or two I needed.  And when I go to the drug store, I normally get a drink and a little snack.  Well, the drug store I use no longer stocks 20-ounce Coke products.  Instead, the cooler has 16-ounce bottles.  I've known this for a while, but my loyalty to Coke Zero has kept me buying.  So, I do that.  And all is pretty much well until it's time to go to my last stop, to drop by the veterinarian's office and schedule the cat's annual check-up.  (Yes, I schedule those in person.  Telephone aversion again.)  There's one particular turn I have to make, like about a 130-degree right turn at an intersection.  So I take the turn.  Now, the 20-ounce Coke bottles fit snugly in the car's cup holder.  The 16-ounce bottle doesn't.  Care to guess what happened?  I'm busy steering the car, and out the corner of my eye, I see a bottle of Coke cartwheel into the floorboard, and the fizz as my drink spills into the carpet.

The kicker?  I get to the vet's office.  They're closed on Wednesday afternoons.

With all that, I didn't dare go for my afternoon run.  The way my luck was running, I would certainly have slipped and twisted my ankle or something.  So I went home, cleaned up the car as best I could, and then took a nap.  After that, things got better.

Clear the decks!

Yesterday was a good day.  The newspaper got sent off to the printer, and two other projects got finished and are off to their final destinations -- one a bundle of components for someone, and another is an article that's long overdue.  Tomorrow gets something else done, and that's a couple hours of dental work.  I'm not looking forward to the act itself, but I will be glad to get it done.  Some of the areas requiring attention are starting to bother me a little more than they had.  I'm glad to know we're inside 48 hours of getting it over with. 

So that's good.  Now if I can get the R4D and the JetStar done, life will really get super excellent.

:: Today's reading  One of my favorite filmmakers is Mel Stuart, who's done everything from acclaimed documentaries (Four Days in November, Wattstax) to childhood favorites (Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory).  Here's an article about Stuart and his role in that latter film. 

Here's your sign

I'm a lurker over at the Collectspace.com message board.  It's a good way to keep plugged in to what's happening in spaceflight and about cool stuff that's out on the market, and I've also learned a lot there.  Some of the regulars are really knowledgeable, and on good days the posts are an education. 

The last few days have had a lot of traffic about an autograph in California last weekend, and some of the goings-on.  A lot of retired astronauts were out there signing autographs.  Some of them were astronauts who don't do signings, too, so there was a lot of excitement about that.  Some of them were favorites, known for being really cool to meet and fun to talk to.  And then there were a couple who...well, disappointed some folks by abruptly raising their signing fees (and one of them, according to some accounts, let his ego get the better of him at some points). 

Back in the day I did some autograph collecting.  (I may have talked about it on here before, so apologies if I'm repeating.)  I used to drive for hours to go to autograph shows and get the signatures of retired baseball players.  For a while, it was fun.  You'd get to talk to them, and some encounters were memorable (Warren Spahn would tease you; Steve Carlton is a hoot; Al Downing is a class act; the Negro League players I met were some of the best gentlemen you'd want to meet).  It got to where I went for the interaction as much as the signature.  It was one of those goofy, geeky things I did when I was a kid in graduate school.

It all came to an end after one autograph show.  I'd been really looking forward to it, because this guy was a hero.  It was a trip of several hours.  I couldn't stand it, I was so excited.  I'd finally get to meet the man.  I paid my $50, got on line, handed my baseball to the guy helping my hero...who took the ball, signed it, and handed it back to me, without looking up, still talking with the other guy helping him, answering the same question he'd probably been asked a hundred times. I'd wondered what I'd say, and yet I could hardly croak out "thank you!" when he handed me the ball.

I look back now, and my expectations were too high.  I got what I paid for, a signature on a baseball.  It was a business transaction.  But the magic was over.  I'd been spoiled by my past experiences, but the way this session was going on seemed like a sausage factory, with my hero cranking out signatures like an assembly line.  That was my last autograph show.  It reminded me that this is a grown-up world, and that heroes are human beings, with greater moments and lesser moments, just like all of us.  I'd based my hopes on an illusion, and I learned a lesson I've carried since.

Oh, there are a handful autographs I've picked up since, but they have come from sources I trust, and I can probably count those acquisitions on one hand.  I like books, and if you can get them in signed editions, that's nice (especially when the signing is done at no additional cost).  But do I need to personally be there?  Nope.  Is the book deficient without a signature?  Nope.  Books are made to be read, not to be signed.  And I cringe when I read the accounts of people harassing celebrities at restaurants or in bathrooms or other awkward places, trying to get them to sign things or make phone calls to relatives for them.  Every celebrity has a horror story.  (Or the autograph sharks who bother celebrities in these kinds of places, get them to sign things, then sell them and repeat the process.  No thanks.)

The best interactions I've had with famous people have been those in which nothing's been transacted except greetings and a little bit of conversation about something of some substance, or when that person has shown an interest in you or something you've done.  I've met a couple of big-name journalists at work-related functions, and that was pretty cool.  No pens, no autographs, no photos; just a handshake and bit of enjoyable conversation, a nice, humane, single-serving experience.  Same deal for the fleeting instances of correspondence with a couple of writers who have e-mailed me.  What I found best was that these weren't interactions based on me begging for acknowledgment, or some Pupkin-esque hope of getting more; there was always a purpose behind these interactions.  It wasn't something where I was bothering them; it was an agreeable experience in a professional context, and the memory is souvenir enough.  They were some of those "hey, that was pretty cool" moments.

It got funny when I was down at the Cape last May for the launch.  While we were waiting at the Saturn V Center, there were probably ten Shuttle astronauts circulating about in their blue jumpsuits, very happily making conversation with the folks, posing for pictures and signing autographs.  Almost all of them, I knew when I saw them.  My guide, a veteran of these things who's fairly gregarious, kept urging me to go talk to them.  I kept coming back to a few things, though: What would I talk to them about?  Do I need to bother them?  Would I embarrass myself, gushing like a fangirl?  Yeah, it was a once-in-a-lifetime chance, and I didn't take it.  But, life goes on. 

Same deal with the 24-hour race at Daytona each year.  They have this big autograph session where you can meet the drivers.  Somehow, though, I don't feel the need.  I'm there to watch them race.  Autograph sessions, in my mind anyway, should be for the kids.  There are few things sweeter than seeing kids flocking around a baseball player or a race car driver for autographs.  But adults flocking around for the same thing?  Something about that just seems a little off, to me anyway.  Is my life any lesser for not having met Scott Dixon or Hurley Haywood?  Nope.  They race cars for a living, just as I teach for a living. We do what we do. 

So, there you go.  These days, I have a standing deal with the famous people I admire: You do the acting, or the reporting, or drive the car or fly the spacecraft or play baseball, or make me laugh, or do whatever it is you do that makes me like you.  I'll sit in the stands or in front of the television, and I'll watch you and appreciate your work.  That's all I'll ask of you.

Central casting

It was a quiet weekend and we really didn't go anywhere, aside from into town for an item or two.  With nothing else going on, I was able to get some work done over the weekend on some projects.  I didn't think the colors on the project the other day were quite right, so I redid those, and the engines got painted and installed too.  I hope to get the decals ordered this week, and then things should roll merrily along.  The other project that really showed progress this weekend was an Airmodel vac-form of a Lockheed JetStar for the same project as the R4D.  To say that JetStar kit is a challenge to build is an understatement, and I believe that's all I'll say about that for now, other than that I'll sure be glad when it's over (and that I plan to reward myself with something like a Fisher Model and Pattern Twogar when it's all done).

Something else I did this weekend was do some resin casting for the first time in a good while.  I've been doing casting for little projects for about 15 years or so, and it's saved my bacon quite a few times. When you're missing a piece from a kit, or you need one to modify, or if you have a single part and you need several more, there's nothing like being able to pour some rubber around it, wait a while, and then begin casting copies.  Sometimes it's a challenge, when the part has some serious undercuts; with experience, though, you learn how to work around these issues.

In this case, I needed to cast some resin fuselage plugs for a conversion a friend wants to build.  That was simple enough.  More of a challenge were some parts I wanted to duplicate for a personal project.  Years ago I got a 1:72 conversion kit for a TBM-3W, one of those goofy postwar types I can't pass up.  The conversion is for a  Hasegawa TBM-3, but no way do I want to buy the somewhat pricey (~$20 US) Hasegawa kit just to throw away a lot of it.  Instead, the venerable Airfix kit can be had for less than $10, often much less.  Yeah, it's detail-free and covered in rivets, but the shapes are okay.  The challenge to myself is to see how far I can take those parts: rescribing the panel lines, adding missing detail, correcting some shapes, and using spares and homemade parts as much as I can, and trying to see how few aftermarket bits I can use.  I had some space left over in the molding block, so I took an appropriate engine and pilot's seat from another kit and stuck it in for molding.  The results?  Pretty good.  I'm looking forward to clearing the table of some projects to see what I can do with this little one.

(Unsolicited plug: The stuff I've used the last few years is made by Smooth-On.  I'm partial to OOMOO 25 for molds and Smooth-Cast 300 for casting.  If you follow the directions and give it a little practice, it's hard to screw up.)

Other than that, a quiet weekend.  And, no, we didn't watch the Oscars last night.  Why should we have, when it seemed the competition was over before it began?  This isn't a commentary about the merits or demerits of the victors (I've seen none of the films that were up for anything, so I have no business talking about them, and I also am neutral about just about anybody who was up for anything, so this isn't about them either).  Rather, it's about all the hype, and how something that I used to enjoy watching now seems like a coronation by the time it happens.

Now, if it had been a string of upset wins, that would have been something to watch.  But, that's just how I am.

Hurry up and wait

Yesterday wasn't pretty, but it all got sorted out in the end.

First things first.  I got to spend an unusually leisurely morning waiting for the FedEx guy.  Sure enough, he came about the time I figured.  Immediately after he left, so did I.  I didn't even take the time to open the box.  I was off like a shot to the office.  My conscience was killing me.  (Later: I open the little box, and it's everything I'd hoped it would be.  Some of the best money I've spent in a while.  More on that someday before long.)

So, off to work.  Thankfully, nothing really burning was going on, and I was able to keep my standing Thursday appointment and get caught up on a few other items that will, I hope, make today less of an adventure than it might have been otherwise.  Good enough.

Then, once all that was done, time to bug out and head for home because the satellite TV people were coming between noon and 5.  I got home just before noon, hurried through some lunch, just in case they showed up. Well, remember the thing about watched pots not boiling?  Of course you do.  It was more like 1:30 when I got a call from them asking if I was home.  (Uhhh...I think I am.)  So I finish what I'm working on upstairs and come down to get ready for them.  Then a little bit later, another call.  They didn't show up at our address, but at an old one (despite me specifying this address during the preparation for the install). There's also a little bit of a language barrier, which makes it take longer.  Eventually, though, they show up.

I'd wanted to have a DVR installed in the living room and have our old receiver moved to the bedroom.  Unfortunately, they could only do what was on the work order -- no more, no less.  Worse yet, they couldn't install the DVR in the living room without running a second cable, and the way our TV nook is engineered would make that difficult.  (They were talking about some ways to route the cable that I wanted nothing to do with.  I didn't want their hurry to leave us with something that wouldn't look right.)  They were also in a hurry, with another install on the schedule, and were running late, and I didn't want my install to become the victim of "go fever."  They also float the idea of just installing a single line into the DVR.  (Which defeats the purpose for two reasons.  First, if we're paying for a DVR and the full DVR service, I damn well want what I've paid for.  Second, it defeats the purpose of having a DVR, which is to allow us to watch one show while recording another one for later.  This solves the problem we have being followers of both Wind Tunnel and Family Guy, which air against each other.) 

Finally, the installer suggests a compromise: install the DVR in the bedroom, which gives us the second unit in there and also provides an easier install for the second cable.  Good enough.  Not perfect, but the more I think about it, that will work out.  So they do the install and it all works out.  I wish they hadn't been in such a hurry, but, hey, that's business.

So we have a spiffy new receiver with DVR.  But that left the living room with an old receiver that's slowly dying.  I figured, hey, while I'm having to play phone tag today and I've already had to do some business, go whole hog.  I call the satellite provider and explain the problems with our current box, built in 2001.  The lady in technical support quickly offers to send us a new receiver, but says they're in the middle of an IT upgrade and can't access any accounts.  Can I call back in an hour?  Sure.  So I do, and within a few moments I have a new box ordered.  Easy enough, and it'll be here in a few days.

Meanwhile, I plan to take some time with the DVR.  I played with it a little last night, and also set up my first record playlists (to record all coming episodes of The Office and 30 Rock, just in case I miss any of them).  I have to say, the DVR is one of the neatest gadgets I've been able to play with, and I foresee it being a lifesaver.

:: The clock is operating!  It was 47 years ago today at Pad 14 that John Glenn climbed into a tiny spacecraft atop Atlas 109D and flew into history.

Crocodiles in my clock dials

Why?  Because today's full of pointy-teethed demands and close connections.  I had to hang around at the house this morning waiting for something, and before noon I'm having to bug out early because of some work being done at the house. 

The FedEx deal filled me with a bit of angst, but worked out okay.  When I placed that phone call last week, the lady on the other end asked, "Will someone be there to sign for it?"  I said "yes," thinking they'd do like the website said and send it via insured postal mail.  I could drive over to the post office and pick it up, as I've done before for certain precious items.  Instead, it came via FedEx Home Delivery.  I was watching the tracking progress via the Interwebs, only to see that I missed a delivery attempt yesterday morning...at 9:15.  Nortz!  Fortunately, I could take some time this morning and wait around, since today's office hours anyway and not much happens early in the morning. 

(By the way, if you're looking for information on FedEx Home Delivery and missed attempts, don't make the mistake of looking on the Interwebs.  FedEx's website doesn't have much useful information about it, and a Google search will bring you little but a string of results that will make you think all FedEx personnel are no-goodniks.  Yeah, I've had a botched delivery or two in my time, and filed a complaint or two, but that's happened with all of them -- UPS, USPS and FedEx.  More than 90% of the time, though, deliveries go without any drama.  The FedEx guy this morning was pretty cool; he left me a phone message yesterday about the missed delivery, and he couldn't have been much nicer this morning.  As for the UPS guy who normally handles our route, he's a hoot.)

So that's the news on this hurry-hurry Thursday.  In another hour or so, it's back home again.  I'll be glad when everything gets done today.  It's one of those things that's a pain to get done, but it'll sure be nice when it's complete.  Stay tuned

On adopting a small tragedy

Rather than anything I'd say today, I believe you should read instead this post by Roger Ebert.  Anyone who's ever given his or her heart to a critter will understand completely.

Reality, a bit too heightened

This point in any semester is one of the worst.  It's come for me, that's for sure.  This time around, it's manifested itself in sleep difficulties.  I've been getting six hours or less the last few nights, and, in a subterranean way, have even been dreading sleep because it feels futile of late.

Why?  All because a few people have been making my life more difficult than usual, and even some of those I like still know how to turn my screws a bit.  There are non-teaching duties that are eating me alive, too, and those show no signs of letting up (in fact, they're getting more demanding, and according to certain sources I may as well write off my Tuesday afternoons for the duration of the semester).

Plus, in this business, you're surrounded by perpetual adolescence. Chronologically, they're adults.  Emotionally, though, they're still teenagers, and I'll let you do the math on what that can be like.  I love how they think they can blow off as many classes as they want, or complain about a 9 a.m. class starting too early for them.  (Wait a few years, honey.  See how you like it when your day starts at 6 a.m....if you're lucky.  And see how you like it when you can't just blow off a day's work for the fun of it or because you overslept.  It's hard for me to feel sorry for these folks, not after as many days as I've had where I've felt like absolute crap, but dragged myself to work.)

I know it gets silly for me to feel this way.  But, damn it, there are times you really get tired of being surrounded by irresponsibility, especially when you bust your ever-lovin' hump to play fair and be square.

:: Oh, well.  Believe it or not, your kids can have all the fun of the Transportation Security Agency right in the convenience of their own playrooms, thanks to Playmobil.  While the listing itself is strange enough, read some of the reviews of the product, especially this one.

(And while you're over that way, be sure not to miss some of the reviews of Bil Keane's Family Circus books.)

:: I made reference yesterday to a particularly colorful project on which I'm working.  Last night, I got most of the painting done on it. See if you can figure out what it's going to be.  Yes, it's a member of the DC-3/C-47/R4D family, built from about the 18,000th 1:72 Italeri C-47 kit I've had in my life.  But which specific aircraft will it be? (Those of you savvy in such things should be tipped off by that yellow stripe on the rudder.)

Promises to yourself

No, we didn't do anything fancy this weekend; we did one of our usual weekend get-out things.  (Okay, well, yesterday involved a lot of Entenmann's products, so there was something really nice to it.) 

While we were out this weekend, I did make good on something that's been calling to me for a while.  In one of the towns we visit on our weekend journeys, there's an antique mall.  One day a couple years back, I found a booth that had a lot of interesting old books for sale.  There was also a pair of bookends, the likes of which I'd never seen.  They were brushed silver metal, sort of deco, and had ALCOA logos on them.  They screamed 1940s and 1950s.  And ALCOA has been of interest to me for a while, not only as historical conglomerate, but because ALCOA sponsored See It Now back in the day.  Man, I wanted them, but didn't want to hack up the $58 for them. 

Every time we went there, those bookends were on my mind.  And on occasion I'd stop in and see if they were still there, but I still felt too cheap to buy them.  And that went on for two years.  Finally, on Saturday, we stopped at the nearby ice cream shop, where we normally stop when we're in town.  The antique mall was still open when we left the ice cream shop.  So we went in, and I intended to see if they were still there.  But they weren't where I remembered.  For a little bit, I thought they'd been sold, and I kicked myself inside.  As I took one last look, though, I saw a familiar glint of brushed aluminum.  And then I found its mate, hiding behind a couple of framed pictures.  It was time to bring them home with me.  As it turned out, I got a discount on them.  So, now they're finally with me, after only two years of dilly-dallying about it. 

:: That's not the only shameless commerce that happened over the weekend.  Friday, I made good on a little promise to myself.  When it happens, I'll share it with you, but it's a gift I'm giving myself because (a) I've never had anything quite this nice before, and (b) it's a reward for putting up with a lot of vocational stress and otherwise going through a lot.  The hangup was, though, that in order to get it, I had to order it by phone.  And, if you're a longtime reader, you know I dread initiating telephone calls.  It must have taken me two hours to screw myself up to get it done, but, after an inadvertently hilarious pep talk to myself, I finally sat down at the phone and placed the call.  As it turned out, it couldn't have been much easier, and the little item should be in my hot little hands later in the week.  I really felt like I'd gotten something accomplished when that was done.  But, man, how I wrap myself up over something so simple, right?

:: I suppose you're expecting me to say something about yesterday's big car race.  Well, on any given Sunday that we watch a race in that series (which is becoming less and less frequent), let's say there are probably five drivers in which I have a rooting interest; 35 in whom my interest is varying degrees of indifferent, and three whom I actively root against.  Yesterday's winner is in the second group.  I don't have any strong feelings for or against him, but he's also not somebody it breaks my heart to see win.  Nope, what really ground my gears about yesterday was the stupid late start.  Maybe I'm old-fashioned, but a Daytona 500 should not be scheduled to end under the lights.  On the other hand, that's what trying to market car racing like the NFL (and with an eye more towards television than anything else) causes. 

Besides, you can keep NA$CAR.  Sebring's coming up.  And even though I know F1 isn't exactly a paragon of virtue, it's something different, and that season's about to start, too.

:: Am making very happy progress towards clearing the workbench of obligations to others.  Yesterday, I got something really neat finished.  There's promise I may get a very colorful project finished (or close to it, anyway) this week.  Stay tuned.