Friday, March 16, 2007

Mr. Semi-Fixit

Home ownership has its advantages: This is my house! Gooney Goo Goo! And that, my friends, is where it stops.

I can’t blame it all on Mother Nature and the process of aging. After all, I did use my money (sorry, P…our money) to buy the house. It was our choice. We also decided to live in a historic district, a term that implies upscale, antique, and character. Implications and true meaning are two different subjects. The term, historic district, gets its roots from real estate marketing. After all, it would be difficult to sell a home if you described it as “really f*cking old”.

“This home right here is a gem. It’s a really f*cking old house in a really f*cking old neighborhood. The plumbing is really f*cking old as is the electrical wiring. The neighbors are really f*cking old and their really f*cking old dog craps in your yard when he escapes from their really f*cking old fence.”

Tip to college freshmen majoring in marketing: Really f*cking old = bad description.

Never the less, this is my house~! Gooney Goo Goo!

There is, however, one more advantage to owning a really f*cking old house. You get to join the League of Persons with Less than Adequate Superpowers. (grob/ted 2006) My true identity comes to life only in times of professional work, marriage and fatherhood. On the weekends I become (dunt taa-daa-daa) Mr. Semi-Fixit.

I have the ability to fix anything to the point of barely running. I can build anything that stands solidly non-square and cover it with enough trim as to not notice. I can rewire without grounding and have the ability to repair plumbing while leaving only a few minor leaks.

No, I cannot fly, but my Super Tool Belt is a Home Depot of paintable caulking, quarter round and latex paint. I can hammer where I should screw and shim to the point of immobile. Brute force is the underlying might of my super powers.

So think of me, my greater-ability fixit friends, when you are laboring through the details of proper measurements and square corners. I have already finished my project and moved on to the next one in my really f*cking old house.

Tuesday, March 13, 2007

Where Man, Is Law

<--Man Law Music. Please Play While Reading The Church of the Golden Teapot was what I might consider a big hit, which means that someone other than me read it. I fully intend to follow up on the subject some time in the near future. But for now, my virgin blogger fingers simply can’t help but leech a clique – MAN LAW. Being a man, a husband and a father, I believe that I have met all criteria that allow me the right to make man law.

Man Law # 74 – Done and Done
There are two types: those that IM for a fact-based purpose and those that chat. Sometimes the former turns toward the latter. Rarely does the latter turn former. In either case, one party usually, for whatever reason, wants to quit chatting before the other.

Man Law #74 allows a man to simply type DONE (all caps) without worry or fear that the other man will take personally. This will eliminate the Gotta-run, Have-meeting excuses and will also cut down on man lying to man. This rule only applies when one man is chatting with another man. Don’t try it with a woman. They don’t understand man law. At recognition of said ending statement, no further IM will be typed until the beginning of the next conversation. The next conversation must be at least 15 minutes into the future. There is an exception for emergencies.

Man Law #87 – The Left Lane
This law enhances the standard driving practice of the left lane being the faster lane. In order to show male driving superiority, all men must recognize and follow the mantra of the left lane being not simply another lane, but a lane made for faster drivers.

Title 1) Should one man come from behind another (in a car, gaywad), the one moving slower must submit to the one moving faster.

Title 2) Unless you are passing, you must remain in the right-hand lane.

Title 3) Flashing of lights is not permitted if you are coming from behind another man. Please reference parenthetical statement in Title 1.

There is a motion on the table. Do I have a second?

(Editor note: Blogger claims the right to use the term, gaywad, as a non-defamatory remark based on friendships with the gays)

Friday, March 9, 2007

The Church of the Golden Teapot

What is it about God that frightens non-Christian people?

WAIT….Before I go any further, I’m going to predict that my brothers and sisters in Christ are going to smile and appreciate this post. My non-Christian friends are going to think I’ve completely been brainwashed and have gone over the edge. Whatever—to both groups. I write to think, and not to spark opinion of others. (But go ahead and comment. That’s the most amusing part of blogging, ya know.)

“Why did [God] let Hitler kill all the Jews? He sounds like a big co*k to me.”

“He lets ONLY those who believe in him be saved? What happens to the other people in the world? Sounds like an a**hole.”

These are two of many such comments that came from the lips of one of my close friends. Another referred to my belief in my Savior as no different than someone worshiping a small golden teapot that revolves around Mars. You can't see this teapot. You just have to have faith that it's there, and that it will "fix" that which is broken or needed. The Church of the Golden Teapot quickly became the new name of said religion.

Now, some people might get upset at such comments, possibly even a few in the bar area of the restaurant in which we were sitting as evident by one of GROBs subdivision neighbors (or some similar relationship) commenting on the acoustic level of his rant. As for me, I respect his agnostic opinion. He has every right to question anything he wishes, but I’m certainly not going to tackle the Hitler question—or anything similar. Why won’t I? It’s simple; I have no idea.

Lets get one thing straight; I’m not one to spout scripture or give reason to seemingly unanswerable questions. I did, however, offer to explain how God works in my life and how my faith has helped my family and me get back on track. I could have given the It’s-God’s-will answer, but that would have been akin to me kicking him squa in da nuts, mmmkay.

And there is another thing. I consider GROB a great friend. He stuck beside me through some hard times in my life, and I pray for him during the hard times in his. He is also one of the funniest MFers I’ve ever known. Our differing beliefs will never deter me from our friendship.

Circling back to the question at hand, GROB is one to investigate and/or challenge everything; it’s in the nature of both our souls. But he chooses to judge the Christian belief versus investigating it. As he once told me, his attitude regarding Christianity is based on a childhood question he asked of his pastor. At age 10, he asked what becomes of non-Christians when they die. The pastor’s response made him turn away from the church and shun any further teaching of the Word of God.

Why is he (or others) afraid to go to church, listen, learn, and then form an opinion using adult rational? I want to know what it is that frightens non-believers out of the slightest consideration of attending anything with the word church as even a small descriptor of event XXXXX?

Just because you attend church doesn’t make you a Christian. It’s not that simple. The people from my church pressure no one to change/invent their faith, ever. The leaders of my church are educators of Christianity. They are Christians, too. It’s kinda like FOX; they teach and let you decide. There is no pressure from the congregation to “change your evil ways”. They are good people who love, and teach, and support. If you choose not to listen, fine. If you choose to argue a point, fine. There will be no judgment. And you’re still welcome to come to our services, meetings, family events, groups, trips, BBQs, or whatever. There is no “C” tattooed on anyone. No one questions why YOU are here. They’re just glad you could come, and then they will invite you back. I simply don’t understand from where all the fear comes.

The photo above is something that I made the day after GROB and I had our discussion. I did it to illustrate just how wrong I believe GROB’s opinion to be…And before you comment on how hypocritical I am because you believe that I am judging someone, try to remember that there is a difference between respecting an opinion and believing that it's misguided.

~Click the photo to make it bigger. It's certainly worth it.~

Monday, March 5, 2007

Multimedia, Charter Communications, and the Planet of the Apes

I spent a huge portion of my weekend attempting to turn my home into a multimedia environment the likes of which might be seen at Disney World.

It took me about a half-day to realize that I don’t have the uber billions that Mickey and friends enjoy. What I do have, however, are two LCD TVs, one with a digital tuner and one without. I have two computers that, for all geek intents and purposes, are slighty dated, and one stand-by computer worthy of nothing more than surfing the net...at most. I also have another 13" LCD monitor for which I paid vast sums of money three years ago.

The goals are few but complicated. I want to be able to store and control in one main location all media—photos, movies, wireless, audio, and net access. A hub, if you will. I also want to be able to:

1) Control all of it from any location (any station)
2) Stream movie and audio playback from the main hub.
3) Utilize each station as a TV and a computer
4) Use each station as a DVR to record HD or SD programming

I pretty much have it all figured out, except for the recording of HD programming. This is because 1) I’m cheap and don’t want to give the cable company any more money for renting of their damn boxes. (I have one box and I know that I can make it all work with that box) and 2) Purchasing the right digital video card for my computer is a bit complicated to get exactly what I need.

Issue two would be easily solved if issue one didn’t exist. It’s technical, so I won’t get into it. But when it comes right down to it, it’s the principle of the thing. I despise Charter Communications and their nickel-and-dime strategy to rape you of anything that they can. $5 a month for digital access and $3 a month for digital service – my ass! What the heck is that? $7 a month for HD service, $3 a month for HD access, $10 a month for an HD box, and $4 a month for any extra digital (not HD) boxes. HD boxes would be another $7 a month…or something like that. I think you know what I’m saying.

So my goal is to beat them at their own game, legally. Doing it illegally really isn’t a challenge to me any longer and that’s not who I want to be. Stealing, although risky, is simple, cheap and efficient. Doing it legally is a whole other battle. It’s much more expensive, probably more expensive than renting the equipment from Charter, at least in the short run. And the short run is rule in the world of technology. But again, it’s the principle, and the challenge. Besides that, I’ll own my equipment versus giving my money to Satan incarnate.

When I told my wife about it, she balked. It’s probably because she wants a flat LCD in the bedroom, and that’s all she wants. It makes no difference to her if I can play a movie on the TV upstairs when in all reality it’s playing on the computer downstairs. She just wants it to work every time without pushing eight buttons, turning three knobs, and adjusting this RCA input so that it fits into that coax outlet.

And I tend to agree, which is yet another reason why it’s taking such a long time and so much research. I’m making it so that all you have to do is click here to see photos, click here to see movies, click here to listen to music or click here to watch TV. (Sounds remarkably like a Charter Communications HD box, eh).

BUT IT WILL BE BETTER THAN CHARTER. BETTER I SAY. BETTER
(I’m feeling slightly mad-scientist-ish right now.)

Better because I’ll make it work myself and won’t have to pay nickel and dime fees.

So here is the kicker. The whole reason that I put myself on this rampage of technology research and store hopping from Circuit City, to Best Buy, to Comp USA and back is simple, some might say foolish. But not to me.

My daughter wanted to watch a DVD on Saturday. Neither of my cheap DVD players work on my cheap and arcane TV. However, I had the movie downstairs on my computer hard drive as a backup. But she wanted to watch it in the bedroom. I got frustrated because I couldn’t give her what she wanted, and because I couldn’t make my POS DVD player work.

GET YOUR CHEAP LASER OFF MY DISK, YOU DAMN DIRTY DVD PLAYER

Muuaahhhh. I will win.

Friday, March 2, 2007

Death of a Rittmanite

My dad died yesterday. Well, he died yesterday plus 27 years. I’ve spent the last 27 years of my life without a father, which, one would believe, has had a great deal of influence over who I am today.

Saturday, March 1, 1980, 7:30 p.m. at the Cleveland Clinic. I was at home with granny. We were watching the Muppets during that time, Paul Williams, I think. I was 10-years-old. Tiny, my dad, was 40.

Rewind approx. 10 months.

I was sitting in the upstairs hallway of our house. Bedroom doors were closed because I was throwing with the mustered strength of a mighty 10-year-old a bouncy ball that you get in the vending machine. The doors were closed so I could see how many times I could get the ball to ricochet before hitting the carpet. Dad was taking a bath. We didn’t have a shower, ya know. Mom came upstairs as my father said, “JC come look at this lump”. Why did I hear that? Why is this so vivid a memory when my normal brain function often balks at remembering to comb my hair?

Blur…blur….random memory of dad in the hospital…blur…blur…memory of the Cleveland Clinic smelling funny, but they had an ice cream machine in the cafeteria…blur..blur…dad at home, unable to eat, and getting sick while trying. He cried.

Blur…blur…back at the Cleveland Clinic, dad had a pretty cool roommate who talked to me…blur...Dad choking in his hospital room because an O2 tube got twisted in his throat. I was so scared and ran from the room to hide….Blur…different day at the CC, being lead into a waiting area by a family friend…

"Timmy, your daddy is going to die today."

I cried.

I went to see him for the last time. I’m told that he was pretty much unresponsive until I walked in. When I crawled beside him he took off his O2 mask. He told me how much he loved me. “We will meet again. At some other time, in some other place.”

I told him I loved him, kissed him, and was taken out of the ICU.

He died that night.

Blur…food…blur…people….blur….food and people and food and people….funeral home….visitation...so many people...funeral and cemetery...big black car, uncle reaching in through the window to hug mom, my brother and me…blur..

The rest of my life without my father.

It makes me cry, even now. I loved him so much.