Mark R. Hunter's Blog, page 101
April 2, 2014
It Will Be A Dark And Stormy Night
SLIGHTLY OFF THE MARK
I’ve been complaining about winter weather in a lot of my columns, so I thought maybe it was time to complain about something else:
Spring weather.
Yes, spring will arrive this year, or so they tell me. March is the traditional Hoosier changeover time (yeah, it’s April now, let it go), which is another way of saying we can have a snowstorm one day, a flood the next, grass fires the day after that, and an ice storm during basketball playoffs. I suppose it comes as no surprise that the Governor declared March 16th through 22nd to be Severe Weather Preparedness Week, which I’d have done myself if security hadn’t kicked me out of his office.
I waited to put this column out until after that week, so if something horrible happened it wouldn’t seem like I was going for ironic.
As part of the celebration … er … observation, the State of Indiana wants to educate everyone, conduct alert system tests, and otherwise try to keep people from getting killed. Honestly, nothing brings down a wonderful spring day like death. The plan was for you to hear the media alerts and tornado sirens being tested on March 20th … if weather permits.
Officials often try to make people understand what watch and warning levels and storm terms are, so I thought I’d help out a bit.
A Watch means you should stay at your cookout, gaze at the blue sky and make fun of the weatherman right up until the first wind gust blows away your “kiss the cook” hat.
A Warning means that if you haven’t sought shelter, you will die.
A Funnel Cloud should not be mistaken for a funnel cake, which generally kills only one person at a time. Funnel clouds are just tornadoes that haven’t touched the ground; maybe they will, maybe they won’t. If you want to gamble, go to Vegas. Just to make it more fun, sometimes tornadoes reach the ground and start tearing things up even though the bottom part is still invisible. You could be looking at a “funnel cloud” right up until the moment your mobile home changes zip codes.
A Tornado is really, really bad.
Straight Line Winds can cause as much damage as tornadoes, but aren’t associated with rotation. You can often tell the damage path of these winds by finding people who are standing in the debris, insisting it was a tornado.
A Squall Line is what happens when I forget my wedding anniversary.
Thunderstorms are storms that produce thunder. See what I did, there?
Lighting kills a lot more people than tornados, but of course tornadoes are more fun … um … attention grabbing. Tornadoes are like people who get drunk and try to jump motorcycles over sheds using homemade ramps: They’re senseless, spectacular, injury rates are high, and in the end nothing good comes from them except to remind people they’re bad.
Just the same, lightning’s also no fun, and can strike miles away from where you think the storm is. Of people struck by lightning, 70% suffered serious long term effects, 10% are permanently killed, and 20% don’t admit being hurt, or didn’t hear the question.
The material I received from the National Weather Service also had tips for heat stroke and heat exhaustion, which I’m sure will be a big deal in a few months. But right now the thought of being warm is almost as funny as the thought of a tornado is not.
The average forward speed of a tornado is 30 mph … but then, the average high temperature in northern Indiana the day I wrote this was 50 degrees, and it didn’t get anywhere close to that. They can go up to 70 mph … or remain motionless, which would be really unfortunate if you happen to be under one at the time.
The average width of the funnel on the ground is about 100 yards. Think about that. And, like a flatulent Godzilla, that doesn’t include the wind damage around it. Some can get over a mile wide. (Tornadoes, I mean, not gassy Godzilla’s. Wow.) If you think about it, trying to outrun a 70 mph mile wide tornado in a car is about as smart as trying to jump a shed from a homemade ramp after your tenth beer.
Tornadoes are most likely from April to June, which means pretty much nothing these days. The last time I took an airplane flight it was delayed by a tornado—in November. In fact, in November of last year 28 tornadoes hit Indiana, the third highest number in a single day ever for our state.
So, when do you need to prepare for severe weather? Anytime. Remember, no matter what the season, it only takes a few beers to start building a ramp.
I’ve been complaining about winter weather in a lot of my columns, so I thought maybe it was time to complain about something else:
Spring weather.
Yes, spring will arrive this year, or so they tell me. March is the traditional Hoosier changeover time (yeah, it’s April now, let it go), which is another way of saying we can have a snowstorm one day, a flood the next, grass fires the day after that, and an ice storm during basketball playoffs. I suppose it comes as no surprise that the Governor declared March 16th through 22nd to be Severe Weather Preparedness Week, which I’d have done myself if security hadn’t kicked me out of his office.
I waited to put this column out until after that week, so if something horrible happened it wouldn’t seem like I was going for ironic.
As part of the celebration … er … observation, the State of Indiana wants to educate everyone, conduct alert system tests, and otherwise try to keep people from getting killed. Honestly, nothing brings down a wonderful spring day like death. The plan was for you to hear the media alerts and tornado sirens being tested on March 20th … if weather permits.
Officials often try to make people understand what watch and warning levels and storm terms are, so I thought I’d help out a bit.
A Watch means you should stay at your cookout, gaze at the blue sky and make fun of the weatherman right up until the first wind gust blows away your “kiss the cook” hat.
A Warning means that if you haven’t sought shelter, you will die.
A Funnel Cloud should not be mistaken for a funnel cake, which generally kills only one person at a time. Funnel clouds are just tornadoes that haven’t touched the ground; maybe they will, maybe they won’t. If you want to gamble, go to Vegas. Just to make it more fun, sometimes tornadoes reach the ground and start tearing things up even though the bottom part is still invisible. You could be looking at a “funnel cloud” right up until the moment your mobile home changes zip codes.
A Tornado is really, really bad.
Straight Line Winds can cause as much damage as tornadoes, but aren’t associated with rotation. You can often tell the damage path of these winds by finding people who are standing in the debris, insisting it was a tornado.
A Squall Line is what happens when I forget my wedding anniversary.
Thunderstorms are storms that produce thunder. See what I did, there?
Lighting kills a lot more people than tornados, but of course tornadoes are more fun … um … attention grabbing. Tornadoes are like people who get drunk and try to jump motorcycles over sheds using homemade ramps: They’re senseless, spectacular, injury rates are high, and in the end nothing good comes from them except to remind people they’re bad.
Just the same, lightning’s also no fun, and can strike miles away from where you think the storm is. Of people struck by lightning, 70% suffered serious long term effects, 10% are permanently killed, and 20% don’t admit being hurt, or didn’t hear the question.
The material I received from the National Weather Service also had tips for heat stroke and heat exhaustion, which I’m sure will be a big deal in a few months. But right now the thought of being warm is almost as funny as the thought of a tornado is not.
The average forward speed of a tornado is 30 mph … but then, the average high temperature in northern Indiana the day I wrote this was 50 degrees, and it didn’t get anywhere close to that. They can go up to 70 mph … or remain motionless, which would be really unfortunate if you happen to be under one at the time.
The average width of the funnel on the ground is about 100 yards. Think about that. And, like a flatulent Godzilla, that doesn’t include the wind damage around it. Some can get over a mile wide. (Tornadoes, I mean, not gassy Godzilla’s. Wow.) If you think about it, trying to outrun a 70 mph mile wide tornado in a car is about as smart as trying to jump a shed from a homemade ramp after your tenth beer.
Tornadoes are most likely from April to June, which means pretty much nothing these days. The last time I took an airplane flight it was delayed by a tornado—in November. In fact, in November of last year 28 tornadoes hit Indiana, the third highest number in a single day ever for our state.
So, when do you need to prepare for severe weather? Anytime. Remember, no matter what the season, it only takes a few beers to start building a ramp.
March 25, 2014
Bobbing For Fire
SLIGHTLY OFF THE MARK
After three decades as a volunteer firefighter, I … hurt. A lot, especially when it’s cold. Recently I’ve been seen wearing a sling, to let my arm heal after I bent an elbow the wrong way. (I don’t really need the sling—it’s to keep me from reaching for stuff with my bad arm.)
Bob Beckley was already an old timer (or so my 18-year-old self thought) when I joined. He just hit his 40th year.
Bob Brownell was just given his fifty year pin.
Fifty years.
And that was because they missed the actual anniversary: He’s been a firefighter for 53 years. He was already doing the job for two decades before I walked into the firehouse for the first time, sucking on a bottle and wetting my pants. (Just kidding … I wasn’t sucking on a bottle. I left it in the car.)
Now, what else happened around 53
years ago? Hm. Well, 52 years ago, although I don’t actually remember it …
Holy cow. Bob Brownell has been fighting fires since before I was born.
And the rest of us still have to fight him for the friggin’ fire nozzle.
Maybe it’s a Bob thing. Maybe being a Bob gives you more energy somehow; maybe it’s one of those mystical names that keeps you young even longer than sleeping under a pyramid, or marrying Playboy bunnies.
Brownell would have started around 1961 or so. Kennedy was President. In Albion, our newest truck was a 1952 fire engine, the first engine I rode to a fire almost two decades later. It had a manual transmission with about 42 speeds on it.
And I’m tired?
Now, Brownell is a transfer, which means he didn’t start with our department. What happened was, he started on a different fire department, wore all of them out, then moved to another one. Then all the young guys on that department got tired of him making them look bad, so he left there and came to us. You know those stories about immortal people who moved every few decades so people wouldn’t notice they aren’t aging? That’s Brownell.
The truth is, Bob didn’t learn to be a firefighter: He invented firefighting. Yep. He was just sitting around with Ben Franklin one day, sipping on a Sam Adams (the beer, I mean—he’s not a vampire. I think.)
Then Ben, who later died because he’s not Bob, used his well known powers of observation: “Say … Bob, you don’t appear to have aged a day since I met you during the Frenching Indian War.” (No, that’s not a typo: Ben was quite a party animal.)
Bob had to think fast, because he’d already been kicked out of Rome after organizing slaves into the first fire brigade (which gives a certain irony to the term “volunteer”). Later he had to leave London, after he helped fight the Great Fire of the unfortunately numbered year 1666. With no buildings left to burn he couldn’t get any firefighting action, so he went over to the Colonies and met an expert at getting action, Ben Franklin.
Together, Franklin and Bob invented false teeth—sadly not perfected for George Washington—along with an early version of the Walkman, and the disco ball. These last two were not successful, as it was only afterward that they discovered electricity.
Anyone, Bob wasn’t ready to move on just yet, so he had to distract Franklin. Seeing no woman nearby, he said, “Say, Ben, you know what we should do? Form a volunteer fire department.”
“Oh, I don’t know … I’m a little leery of flames ever since we flew that kite and the lightning set my wig on fire.”
“You look fine bald. Besides, the chicks love firefighters.”
“Oh! Why didn’t you say so?”
So they formed the Union Fire Company, and both men were happy to learn the chicks did, indeed, love firefighters, and things went just great until Bob started not getting old. He moved to Cincinnati and helped develop the first steam powered fire engine, which the firefighters wanted to name the “Bob Brownell” but was instead named the "Uncle Joe Ross", after a City Council member. Politics! But it’s just as well, because 150 years later Bob would have some explaining to do.
So we’re lucky to have Bobs on our fire department. You know, something just occurred to me: Maybe Bob Beckley isn’t one of a line of Beckleys on the AFD. Maybe it was the same Bob all along—Chief in 1959, and Chief in 1994. Maybe firefighting Bobs really are immortal …
Just like the spirit of volunteerism. See what I did there?
Now, I’m off to change my name.
After three decades as a volunteer firefighter, I … hurt. A lot, especially when it’s cold. Recently I’ve been seen wearing a sling, to let my arm heal after I bent an elbow the wrong way. (I don’t really need the sling—it’s to keep me from reaching for stuff with my bad arm.)
Bob Beckley was already an old timer (or so my 18-year-old self thought) when I joined. He just hit his 40th year.
Bob Brownell was just given his fifty year pin.
Fifty years.
And that was because they missed the actual anniversary: He’s been a firefighter for 53 years. He was already doing the job for two decades before I walked into the firehouse for the first time, sucking on a bottle and wetting my pants. (Just kidding … I wasn’t sucking on a bottle. I left it in the car.)
Now, what else happened around 53
years ago? Hm. Well, 52 years ago, although I don’t actually remember it …
Holy cow. Bob Brownell has been fighting fires since before I was born.
And the rest of us still have to fight him for the friggin’ fire nozzle.
Maybe it’s a Bob thing. Maybe being a Bob gives you more energy somehow; maybe it’s one of those mystical names that keeps you young even longer than sleeping under a pyramid, or marrying Playboy bunnies.
Brownell would have started around 1961 or so. Kennedy was President. In Albion, our newest truck was a 1952 fire engine, the first engine I rode to a fire almost two decades later. It had a manual transmission with about 42 speeds on it.
And I’m tired?
Now, Brownell is a transfer, which means he didn’t start with our department. What happened was, he started on a different fire department, wore all of them out, then moved to another one. Then all the young guys on that department got tired of him making them look bad, so he left there and came to us. You know those stories about immortal people who moved every few decades so people wouldn’t notice they aren’t aging? That’s Brownell.
The truth is, Bob didn’t learn to be a firefighter: He invented firefighting. Yep. He was just sitting around with Ben Franklin one day, sipping on a Sam Adams (the beer, I mean—he’s not a vampire. I think.)
Then Ben, who later died because he’s not Bob, used his well known powers of observation: “Say … Bob, you don’t appear to have aged a day since I met you during the Frenching Indian War.” (No, that’s not a typo: Ben was quite a party animal.)
Bob had to think fast, because he’d already been kicked out of Rome after organizing slaves into the first fire brigade (which gives a certain irony to the term “volunteer”). Later he had to leave London, after he helped fight the Great Fire of the unfortunately numbered year 1666. With no buildings left to burn he couldn’t get any firefighting action, so he went over to the Colonies and met an expert at getting action, Ben Franklin.
Together, Franklin and Bob invented false teeth—sadly not perfected for George Washington—along with an early version of the Walkman, and the disco ball. These last two were not successful, as it was only afterward that they discovered electricity.
Anyone, Bob wasn’t ready to move on just yet, so he had to distract Franklin. Seeing no woman nearby, he said, “Say, Ben, you know what we should do? Form a volunteer fire department.”
“Oh, I don’t know … I’m a little leery of flames ever since we flew that kite and the lightning set my wig on fire.”
“You look fine bald. Besides, the chicks love firefighters.”
“Oh! Why didn’t you say so?”
So they formed the Union Fire Company, and both men were happy to learn the chicks did, indeed, love firefighters, and things went just great until Bob started not getting old. He moved to Cincinnati and helped develop the first steam powered fire engine, which the firefighters wanted to name the “Bob Brownell” but was instead named the "Uncle Joe Ross", after a City Council member. Politics! But it’s just as well, because 150 years later Bob would have some explaining to do.
So we’re lucky to have Bobs on our fire department. You know, something just occurred to me: Maybe Bob Beckley isn’t one of a line of Beckleys on the AFD. Maybe it was the same Bob all along—Chief in 1959, and Chief in 1994. Maybe firefighting Bobs really are immortal …
Just like the spirit of volunteerism. See what I did there?
Now, I’m off to change my name.
Relay for Life at Showcase Ligonier
RELAY FOR LIFE OF NOBLE COUNTY
COMING TO SHOWCASE LIGONIER MARCH 29
The Relay For Life of Noble County will have a booth this year at Showcase Ligonier, which will be held at the Cross Walk at Ligonier United Methodist Church, 466 Townline Road on Saturday, March 29th.
Showcase Ligonier, sponsored by the Ligonier Chamber Of Commerce, offers a day of family fun, information, food and door prizes. It’s all designed to put the spotlight on the greater West Noble area. Hours are 9 a.m. to 4 p.m. and admission is free, with many door prizes available including a flat-screen TV. Those attending are asked to bring nonperishable food items for the West Noble Food Pantry.
In addition to the Relay, more than 35 exhibitors have booths. Food concessions will be sold, and events include Bingo operated by West Noble American Legion Post 243. The Ligonier Police department will be there to offer Operation KidPrint ID, which provides parents with photo identification cards for their children.
The 2014 Relay For Life of Noble County will be held May 17-18 at the West Noble High School track and field, south of Ligonier. The theme chosen is “Racing For A Cure”.
For more information about the Relay and how you can get involved, contact Mike White at (260) 302-2052 or mjw_2013@hotmail.com
The Noble County Relay website is here:
http://main.acsevents.org/site/TR?pg=...
And the Facebook page is here:
https://www.facebook.com/RFLofNobleCo...
COMING TO SHOWCASE LIGONIER MARCH 29
The Relay For Life of Noble County will have a booth this year at Showcase Ligonier, which will be held at the Cross Walk at Ligonier United Methodist Church, 466 Townline Road on Saturday, March 29th.
Showcase Ligonier, sponsored by the Ligonier Chamber Of Commerce, offers a day of family fun, information, food and door prizes. It’s all designed to put the spotlight on the greater West Noble area. Hours are 9 a.m. to 4 p.m. and admission is free, with many door prizes available including a flat-screen TV. Those attending are asked to bring nonperishable food items for the West Noble Food Pantry.
In addition to the Relay, more than 35 exhibitors have booths. Food concessions will be sold, and events include Bingo operated by West Noble American Legion Post 243. The Ligonier Police department will be there to offer Operation KidPrint ID, which provides parents with photo identification cards for their children.
The 2014 Relay For Life of Noble County will be held May 17-18 at the West Noble High School track and field, south of Ligonier. The theme chosen is “Racing For A Cure”.
For more information about the Relay and how you can get involved, contact Mike White at (260) 302-2052 or mjw_2013@hotmail.com
The Noble County Relay website is here:
http://main.acsevents.org/site/TR?pg=...
And the Facebook page is here:
https://www.facebook.com/RFLofNobleCo...
March 20, 2014
A chocolate lover's worst nightmare
SLIGHTLY OFF THE MARK
There are a lot of things in the world we like, but could live without. Our favorite TV shows, for instance. Sports teams, coffee (!), videos of cute kittens, even the internet.
Okay, maybe not the internet, now that we’re hooked.
But there’s one thing most of us really can’t do without, even if other people think otherwise. Something that makes the world go around (metaphorically … who knows, maybe literally). Something that, if lost, would cause more withdrawal than caffeine-laced crack.
But now, horribly, there’s a shortage of chocolate.
I’ll pause now until the horrified screams die down.
The world, according to experts, is facing its worst cocoa deficit in 50 years. Not to go on a tangent, but how does one become a cocoa expert? Do I not qualify as one, after half a century as a connoisseur? I mean, come on: I’ve eaten more chocolate than Obama’s hit golf balls. I’ve popped more M&M’s than Charlie Sheen has popped pills, including aspirin. I’ve bought more chocolate bars than Fort Knox has gold bars, but now it seems the chocolate bars may be more valuable.
Not that I wouldn’t eat them anyway.
The International Cocoa Organization says cocoa demand exceeds output, a gap they predict will spread to 70,000 metric tons – not up to Federal deficit standards, but any time chocolate combines with red it’s a bad thing (except for chocolate velvet cake).
(By the way, the ICCO should not
be confused with the ICO, International Cuckoo Organization. Go to the convention of one and you get chocolate treats; go to the convention of the other and you get a straightjacket. At least, that’s what Lindsay Lohan says.)
The ICCO thinks the shortfall might go on for six years, which would be the longest running shortage since record keeping began in 1960. It could increase prices by 14%, making it $3,200 a ton.
What? I buy cocoa by the ton—don’t you?
The good news is that chocolate isn’t made of just cocoa. Ingredients include chocolate liquor, cocoa butter, sugar, lecithin, and vanilla.
The bad news is, two of those five items come from cocoa.
(You don’t want to know what lecithin is, but rest assured: Having the word “thin” in its name means nothing.)
To turn chocolate into milk chocolate—and please do, thanyouverymuch—requires … are you ready for this? Milk.
But it takes about 400 cocoa beans to make a pound of any kind of chocolate, so we can’t depend on the other ingredients to save us. The problem stems partly from where cocoa is grown, according to commodities manager Ashmead Pringle. I threw his name in because “Pringle” in relation to an article on cocoa made me giggle. I assume Pringles already has a chocolate dipped chip.
Pringle (Hee!) says cocoa is produced in African countries that tend to be politically and meteorologically unstable. To make matters worse, farmers have no incentive to produce more, because when the price goes up their pay doesn’t. I guess farming is the same all over.
Meanwhile, the demand for cocoa is predicted to hit 7.3 million tons next year, a pace that hasn’t slowed despite my appeals for everyone except me to decrease their consumption. I certainly didn’t help the matter by experimenting with double chocolate-dipped Snickers bars.
Here’s one answer: Grow your own. Unfortunately, cocoa needs tropical climates—it originated in Central and South America, after all, areas that were a paradise before the Spanish showed up and forced the Natives to eat a more balanced diet. In addition to there, cocoa is now grown in a few small areas of Asia, but most still comes from West Africa. It can’t just be planted in a person’s back yard, and don’t think I didn’t try. Maybe I should have taken the wrapper off, first.
What we need, then, are
greenhouses, or some kind of large area with special lights that will allow cocoa to grow-grow. I considering building one of my own, and thus never having to depend on anyone else for my supply and … oh, boy. I guess I am addicted, huh?
So I checked on the cost and how much work it would be, and I’m not doing it.
Then I came up with another brilliant idea. (The first was in 1993.) What about all those marijuana dealers who get busted for growing pot? The police confiscate vehicles involved in drug distribution—why not confiscate their growing places, too?
I know, brilliant. Granted, it’s swapping one addiction for another, but no one ever suffered from secondhand chocolate … just from a lack of it.
So there you have it, problem solved. Also, by busting the pot growers you’re cutting down on people baking pot into brownies, and thus saving extra cocoa even as you’re growing new. In no time at all, the cocoa supply will be replenished.
Unless someone figures out a way to smoke it.
There are a lot of things in the world we like, but could live without. Our favorite TV shows, for instance. Sports teams, coffee (!), videos of cute kittens, even the internet.
Okay, maybe not the internet, now that we’re hooked.
But there’s one thing most of us really can’t do without, even if other people think otherwise. Something that makes the world go around (metaphorically … who knows, maybe literally). Something that, if lost, would cause more withdrawal than caffeine-laced crack.
But now, horribly, there’s a shortage of chocolate.
I’ll pause now until the horrified screams die down.
The world, according to experts, is facing its worst cocoa deficit in 50 years. Not to go on a tangent, but how does one become a cocoa expert? Do I not qualify as one, after half a century as a connoisseur? I mean, come on: I’ve eaten more chocolate than Obama’s hit golf balls. I’ve popped more M&M’s than Charlie Sheen has popped pills, including aspirin. I’ve bought more chocolate bars than Fort Knox has gold bars, but now it seems the chocolate bars may be more valuable.
Not that I wouldn’t eat them anyway.
The International Cocoa Organization says cocoa demand exceeds output, a gap they predict will spread to 70,000 metric tons – not up to Federal deficit standards, but any time chocolate combines with red it’s a bad thing (except for chocolate velvet cake).
(By the way, the ICCO should not
be confused with the ICO, International Cuckoo Organization. Go to the convention of one and you get chocolate treats; go to the convention of the other and you get a straightjacket. At least, that’s what Lindsay Lohan says.)
The ICCO thinks the shortfall might go on for six years, which would be the longest running shortage since record keeping began in 1960. It could increase prices by 14%, making it $3,200 a ton.
What? I buy cocoa by the ton—don’t you?
The good news is that chocolate isn’t made of just cocoa. Ingredients include chocolate liquor, cocoa butter, sugar, lecithin, and vanilla.
The bad news is, two of those five items come from cocoa.
(You don’t want to know what lecithin is, but rest assured: Having the word “thin” in its name means nothing.)
To turn chocolate into milk chocolate—and please do, thanyouverymuch—requires … are you ready for this? Milk.
But it takes about 400 cocoa beans to make a pound of any kind of chocolate, so we can’t depend on the other ingredients to save us. The problem stems partly from where cocoa is grown, according to commodities manager Ashmead Pringle. I threw his name in because “Pringle” in relation to an article on cocoa made me giggle. I assume Pringles already has a chocolate dipped chip.
Pringle (Hee!) says cocoa is produced in African countries that tend to be politically and meteorologically unstable. To make matters worse, farmers have no incentive to produce more, because when the price goes up their pay doesn’t. I guess farming is the same all over.
Meanwhile, the demand for cocoa is predicted to hit 7.3 million tons next year, a pace that hasn’t slowed despite my appeals for everyone except me to decrease their consumption. I certainly didn’t help the matter by experimenting with double chocolate-dipped Snickers bars.
Here’s one answer: Grow your own. Unfortunately, cocoa needs tropical climates—it originated in Central and South America, after all, areas that were a paradise before the Spanish showed up and forced the Natives to eat a more balanced diet. In addition to there, cocoa is now grown in a few small areas of Asia, but most still comes from West Africa. It can’t just be planted in a person’s back yard, and don’t think I didn’t try. Maybe I should have taken the wrapper off, first.
What we need, then, are
greenhouses, or some kind of large area with special lights that will allow cocoa to grow-grow. I considering building one of my own, and thus never having to depend on anyone else for my supply and … oh, boy. I guess I am addicted, huh?
So I checked on the cost and how much work it would be, and I’m not doing it.
Then I came up with another brilliant idea. (The first was in 1993.) What about all those marijuana dealers who get busted for growing pot? The police confiscate vehicles involved in drug distribution—why not confiscate their growing places, too?
I know, brilliant. Granted, it’s swapping one addiction for another, but no one ever suffered from secondhand chocolate … just from a lack of it.
So there you have it, problem solved. Also, by busting the pot growers you’re cutting down on people baking pot into brownies, and thus saving extra cocoa even as you’re growing new. In no time at all, the cocoa supply will be replenished.
Unless someone figures out a way to smoke it.
March 17, 2014
Relay For Life time
RELAY FOR LIFE OF NOBLE COUNTY
TEAMS MEETING MARCH 20TH
This year’s Noble County Relay For Life is ramping up, with committee and team captain meetings scheduled for Thursday, March 20th, in Albion.
Everyone is welcome, especially if you’re ready to sign up a team. The Relay Committee meeting is from 6-7 p.m. at the Cole Room, in the Noble County Public Library main branch in Albion. A team captain meeting will follow, at 7 p.m.
The 2014 Relay For Life of Noble County will take place on May 17-18th at West Noble High School beginning at 10:00 a.m. that Saturday. For more information about the kickoff event or on how you can get involved, contact Mike White at (260) 302-2052 or mjw_2013@hotmail.com
The Noble County Relay website is here:
http://main.acsevents.org/site/TR?pg=...
And the Facebook page is here:
https://www.facebook.com/RFLofNobleCo...
Thursday, March 20, 2014
Noble County Public Library
813 E. Main St. Albion, IN
Relay For Life participants and visitors have a chance to celebrate the victory of local cancer survivors during the Survivors Lap; remember those who are fighting cancer or those who have lost their battle to the disease during the Luminaria Ceremony; and participate in the Fight Back Ceremony, which gives everyone a chance to proclaim his or her own way of taking action against the disease.
TEAMS MEETING MARCH 20TH
This year’s Noble County Relay For Life is ramping up, with committee and team captain meetings scheduled for Thursday, March 20th, in Albion.
Everyone is welcome, especially if you’re ready to sign up a team. The Relay Committee meeting is from 6-7 p.m. at the Cole Room, in the Noble County Public Library main branch in Albion. A team captain meeting will follow, at 7 p.m.
The 2014 Relay For Life of Noble County will take place on May 17-18th at West Noble High School beginning at 10:00 a.m. that Saturday. For more information about the kickoff event or on how you can get involved, contact Mike White at (260) 302-2052 or mjw_2013@hotmail.com
The Noble County Relay website is here:
http://main.acsevents.org/site/TR?pg=...
And the Facebook page is here:
https://www.facebook.com/RFLofNobleCo...
Thursday, March 20, 2014
Noble County Public Library
813 E. Main St. Albion, IN
Relay For Life participants and visitors have a chance to celebrate the victory of local cancer survivors during the Survivors Lap; remember those who are fighting cancer or those who have lost their battle to the disease during the Luminaria Ceremony; and participate in the Fight Back Ceremony, which gives everyone a chance to proclaim his or her own way of taking action against the disease.
March 14, 2014
Why Amazon Rankings Don't Rock
Those of you who are curious about whether Amazon book rankings are a good measure of selling success might be interested in this story:
On January 30th, my Amazon ranking was 352,039. Two days later two of my books were sold through Amazon—just two (as far as I can tell), but within just hours of each other.
My Amazon ranking shot to 6,093.
So it’s kind of cool to find yourself with a high ranking, but it’s not a measure that you’re rolling in new readers.
Just the same, I’ll still shoot for number one when “No Campfire, Girls” comes up in a couple of months!
On January 30th, my Amazon ranking was 352,039. Two days later two of my books were sold through Amazon—just two (as far as I can tell), but within just hours of each other.
My Amazon ranking shot to 6,093.
So it’s kind of cool to find yourself with a high ranking, but it’s not a measure that you’re rolling in new readers.
Just the same, I’ll still shoot for number one when “No Campfire, Girls” comes up in a couple of months!
March 13, 2014
Singing the Snow Blues
Okay, okay, we get it: Mother Nature’s in charge.
Back in 1978 I wrote in my high school paper that I got cabin fever and opened a window, only to be buried in a collapsing drift. My attitude toward winter hasn’t changed. Winter itself did for a while, taking a temporary break … maybe vacationing in Siberia. Now it’s back, and as sometimes happens when people return from a break, it’s back with a vengeance.
(When I get back from vacation, I just want more vacation.)
We got within a smidgen (technical term, there) of hitting the all-time record amount of snow for winter in this area, at an estimated forty stories. The only thing standing in our way is one winter in the early 80’s, when we had so much snow the spring melt formed Lake Mississippi.
We also broke five low temperature records this winter. At least one of the old records dates back to the winter after I was born; imagine a six month old in a house heated by one coal-burning furnace, with temperatures in the minus teens. That’s how I grew up to be me.
There have been many songs written about snow. My favorite title is by Frank Zappa: “Don’t Eat The Yellow Snow”. Very good advice, especially in a household like mine (with a dog).
Speaking of dogs, the first time I let mine out after the last big snowstorm he took two steps into the back yard, sank up to his chest (he weighs almost 100 pounds) then turned around to stare at me. I know exactly what he was thinking: “You want me to go out in that?”
I shoveled him a pee place. Yes, I did, and maybe someday I’ll write a song about that.
Some people feel differently about snow, although this year more of them seem to be coming over to my side. From a music standpoint, there’s actually a group called Snow Patrol. They had to change their phone number. People kept calling: “I got your snow right here! You don’t need to patrol for it!”
There’s a character in a TV show called “The Year Without a Santa Claus” named Snow Miser. Gotta be the bad guy, right? Here are some lyrics from his song:
“I’m Mister White Christmas, I’m Mister Snow
I’m Mister Icicle, I’m Mister Ten Below.
Friends call me Snow Miser, whatever I touch
Turns to snow in my clutch. I’m too much!”
Yes, you are. And what, you have friends?
Several weeks ago I watched White Christmas. I thought it was a horror movie; turns out it’s a musical. Or maybe it is a horror flick, considering these lyrics from the song—yes—“Snow”:
“It won’t’ be long before we’ll all be there with snow.
Snow!
I want to wash my hands, my face and hair with snow.”
Yeah, and I want to have you committed. I hope at least you’re not washing with the yellow snow.
The Red Hot Chili Peppers seemed to more or less like it in their song “Snow (Hey Oh)”, which I would have titled “Snow (Oh No)”. In fact, I would have changed these lyrics:
“Deep beneath the cover of another perfect wonder
Where it’s so white as snow.”
To:
“Buried in my covers I scream out my horrors
Of another &%#@! Foot of snow.”
Why, yes, I am searching for a job as a lyricist … say in Los Angeles, where it gets cold so seldom that an inch of snow can bring out the National Guard.
Anyway, I didn’t take the time to write my own song about snow, because my fingers can only type for so long before I have to soak them in hot water. So instead, I took a famous “Christmas” song, “Let It Snow”—which has nothing to do with Christmas at all—and put in more realistic lyrics:
Well, the snow just keeps on flying,
Stupid groundhog wasn’t lying.
Into cabin fever hell we go;
Stop the snow, stop the snow, stop the snow!
This cursed white fluff ain’t stopping.
We’ll soon starve without some shopping.
There’s no way to get out we know,
Stop the snow, stop the snow, stop the snow!
Someday the days could turn nice,
I’d pay for that with my own blood.
But I know that we’d pay the price:
When the snow melts into a big flood.
I feel like my soul is dying
If my outlook changed I’d be lying.
I’m tired of this ice show:
Stop the snow, stop the snow, stop the snow!
It ain’t Shakespeare. But it’s from the heart.
Back in 1978 I wrote in my high school paper that I got cabin fever and opened a window, only to be buried in a collapsing drift. My attitude toward winter hasn’t changed. Winter itself did for a while, taking a temporary break … maybe vacationing in Siberia. Now it’s back, and as sometimes happens when people return from a break, it’s back with a vengeance.
(When I get back from vacation, I just want more vacation.)
We got within a smidgen (technical term, there) of hitting the all-time record amount of snow for winter in this area, at an estimated forty stories. The only thing standing in our way is one winter in the early 80’s, when we had so much snow the spring melt formed Lake Mississippi.
We also broke five low temperature records this winter. At least one of the old records dates back to the winter after I was born; imagine a six month old in a house heated by one coal-burning furnace, with temperatures in the minus teens. That’s how I grew up to be me.
There have been many songs written about snow. My favorite title is by Frank Zappa: “Don’t Eat The Yellow Snow”. Very good advice, especially in a household like mine (with a dog).
Speaking of dogs, the first time I let mine out after the last big snowstorm he took two steps into the back yard, sank up to his chest (he weighs almost 100 pounds) then turned around to stare at me. I know exactly what he was thinking: “You want me to go out in that?”
I shoveled him a pee place. Yes, I did, and maybe someday I’ll write a song about that.
Some people feel differently about snow, although this year more of them seem to be coming over to my side. From a music standpoint, there’s actually a group called Snow Patrol. They had to change their phone number. People kept calling: “I got your snow right here! You don’t need to patrol for it!”
There’s a character in a TV show called “The Year Without a Santa Claus” named Snow Miser. Gotta be the bad guy, right? Here are some lyrics from his song:
“I’m Mister White Christmas, I’m Mister Snow
I’m Mister Icicle, I’m Mister Ten Below.
Friends call me Snow Miser, whatever I touch
Turns to snow in my clutch. I’m too much!”
Yes, you are. And what, you have friends?
Several weeks ago I watched White Christmas. I thought it was a horror movie; turns out it’s a musical. Or maybe it is a horror flick, considering these lyrics from the song—yes—“Snow”:
“It won’t’ be long before we’ll all be there with snow.
Snow!
I want to wash my hands, my face and hair with snow.”
Yeah, and I want to have you committed. I hope at least you’re not washing with the yellow snow.
The Red Hot Chili Peppers seemed to more or less like it in their song “Snow (Hey Oh)”, which I would have titled “Snow (Oh No)”. In fact, I would have changed these lyrics:
“Deep beneath the cover of another perfect wonder
Where it’s so white as snow.”
To:
“Buried in my covers I scream out my horrors
Of another &%#@! Foot of snow.”
Why, yes, I am searching for a job as a lyricist … say in Los Angeles, where it gets cold so seldom that an inch of snow can bring out the National Guard.
Anyway, I didn’t take the time to write my own song about snow, because my fingers can only type for so long before I have to soak them in hot water. So instead, I took a famous “Christmas” song, “Let It Snow”—which has nothing to do with Christmas at all—and put in more realistic lyrics:
Well, the snow just keeps on flying,
Stupid groundhog wasn’t lying.
Into cabin fever hell we go;
Stop the snow, stop the snow, stop the snow!
This cursed white fluff ain’t stopping.
We’ll soon starve without some shopping.
There’s no way to get out we know,
Stop the snow, stop the snow, stop the snow!
Someday the days could turn nice,
I’d pay for that with my own blood.
But I know that we’d pay the price:
When the snow melts into a big flood.
I feel like my soul is dying
If my outlook changed I’d be lying.
I’m tired of this ice show:
Stop the snow, stop the snow, stop the snow!
It ain’t Shakespeare. But it’s from the heart.
March 9, 2014
Working titles
My working title for the Girl Scout story will be “No Campfire, Girls”, which is certainly better than the “Burning Brownies” that someone suggested!
Meanwhile, the working title of my “space opera” novella, which is flirting with becoming a novel, is: “Beowulf: In Harm’s Way”. Or possibly “The Beowulf: In Harm’s Way”, since that’s the name of a ship.
Meanwhile, the working title of my “space opera” novella, which is flirting with becoming a novel, is: “Beowulf: In Harm’s Way”. Or possibly “The Beowulf: In Harm’s Way”, since that’s the name of a ship.
March 8, 2014
My writing time isn't swelling as much as my elbow
You’d think only being able to sleep three or four hours at a stretch would increase my writing time. Unfortunately, some of the other side-effects of Prednisone—nausea, headache, tiredness, and don’t get me started on night sweats—have slowed me down. Worse, I haven’t experienced the side-effect I hoped for: loss of appetite.
But at least my arm feels better. Oh, wait … no, it doesn’t.
But I’ve been reading more, so there’s that. Also, we’ve edged closer to finishing preparations for the Girl Scout story, with the aim of having it on the “shelves” before the end of spring. Only four votes were received on the poll for a title, with “Best Session Ever” getting two and the other two split between “No Campfire, Girls” and “Who Keeps Singing?” (Although “No Campfire, Girls” is leading in comments.)
Some other interesting ideas came in. Jane and Lance Hattatt suggested “Girls On Fire”, which should not be taken literally. (No girls were harmed in the writing of this novella.) An honest to goodness Scout vet, April Isbell, suggested “Lackablazical”, which is kind of an inside joke and brilliant, but maybe too obscure.
Then there’s the fact that I still haven’t named my actual group, which is currently going by “Yellowbirds” for no good reason other than that it’s not “Girl Scouts”. Considering Emily’s half done with the cover material and the story’s pretty much ready to be formatted, I’d better get cracking. And by that, I don’t mean my elbow.
But at least my arm feels better. Oh, wait … no, it doesn’t.
But I’ve been reading more, so there’s that. Also, we’ve edged closer to finishing preparations for the Girl Scout story, with the aim of having it on the “shelves” before the end of spring. Only four votes were received on the poll for a title, with “Best Session Ever” getting two and the other two split between “No Campfire, Girls” and “Who Keeps Singing?” (Although “No Campfire, Girls” is leading in comments.)
Some other interesting ideas came in. Jane and Lance Hattatt suggested “Girls On Fire”, which should not be taken literally. (No girls were harmed in the writing of this novella.) An honest to goodness Scout vet, April Isbell, suggested “Lackablazical”, which is kind of an inside joke and brilliant, but maybe too obscure.
Then there’s the fact that I still haven’t named my actual group, which is currently going by “Yellowbirds” for no good reason other than that it’s not “Girl Scouts”. Considering Emily’s half done with the cover material and the story’s pretty much ready to be formatted, I’d better get cracking. And by that, I don’t mean my elbow.
March 5, 2014
The Crystal Leather Anniversary
SLIGHTLY OFF THE MARK
It occurs to me that this column comes out on March 5th, my third wedding anniversary.
And by “occurs”, I mean my wife reminded me.
As I wrote a few years ago, it wasn’t supposed to be our “real” wedding. Our intention was to get married here in Indiana, then have a bigger celebration in her home state of Missouri. The first wedding was exactly the kind most guys want: Get it done and over with:
“Mark, ya’ll wanna?”
“Well … ouch! Yep.”
“Emily, ya’ll wanna?”
“I get his stuff?”
“Yep.”
“Why not?”
“By the authority of the World
Wide Web Church Of Nigerian Princes, ya’ll is hitched.”
Just like that. Well, except without the accents, or the hesitation, or the questionable legality. Okay, really not like that at all.
But things happened: medical stuff, money stuff, bad timing stuff. Basically, real life. While we still intend to have that down south celebration, it’s far too late for that be our “real” anniversary.
March 5th isn’t so bad, because isn’t March when things start to warm up, the snow melts away, and we see the first signs of nature’s renewal? Okay, not this year, but still.
So what do we do for our anniversary? For early March, my idea included a trip to a place where you can sit on the beach without seeing chunks of ice, unless it’s the ice in your drinks.
Then I checked my bank account. There will be no dunes this anniversary, unless you count snowdrifts in the back yard.
As I mentioned in my Valentine’s Day column, I really stink at this kind of thing. So, for what to get my wife for our third anniversary I consulted a trusted source: Wikipedia.
Wikipedia is an internet website in which any Joe and his brother, and his brother’s dog (with internet access) can put in information, so it has to be always accurate. Right? So I asked it about wedding anniversaries, and this is the first line:
“A wedding anniversary is the anniversary of the date a wedding took place.”
Why, thank you, Captain Obvious.
But what should I get her as a present? Or should I just skip that and move a couch out to the garage? Too cold for that. So, it turns out there are two kinds of anniversary gift lists: the traditional one, and a “modern” list created by librarians at the Chicago Public Library.
If you need to know something ask a librarian. If they don’t know the answer, it’s not worth knowing.
So, the modern suggested gift is crystal and/or glass. Okay. Crystal! Snowflakes are crystals; I’ll just get her a bowl of snow. Salt’s a crystal; Pass the salt at dinner, and done. Or salt the snow! But no way could it be that easy.
I could go with glass—new windows for the house. I know she wants new windows, but that also seemed a bit too easy.
So I went to the internet again and asked what the difference is between crystal and glass. Turns out the librarians are talking about glass kitchen stuff, like glasses (which, duh) and bowls, and other breakables. As that last word implies, glass kitchen stuff doesn’t last long around my house.
So, what’s crystal? It turns out crystal is just glass, with the addition of at least 24% of … lead.
I thought lead was bad. Although I ate lead paint chips as a child, but it never seemed to have any ill … what were we talking about?
Okay, then what’s the traditional third anniversary gift? Turns out, according to the unimpeachable Wikipedia, it’s leather.
One can go two ways on the subject of leather anniversary presents. The first, which I call “50 Shades of Leather”, is questionable for a column that aims to bore people of all ages. Okay, so what about the second? Exactly when did leather become the ideal anniversary gift? Did women of olden times have a lot of leather underwear? That would explain why the women in old photos always looked so dour: They weren’t chaffing only because they couldn’t vote.
Armed with this, I knew instantly what my wife would like for our third anniversary: Tack. For those of you who don’t know (I didn’t, until my horse-loving wife told me), tack is all that stuff that goes on horses while they’re being ridden, like the reins, and the bridle (which isn’t related to brides at all), and bits, which are apparently the stuff that the horses bite. Better it than me.
So tack for my wife, who loves horses, and I actually did some window shopping before I remembered we had no horse. Just a horse-sized dog.
This whole time something had been bothering me, something niggling at the back of my mind. I’d been ignoring that as I searched for leather and crystal, or maybe crystal leather, which might be a brilliant invention and forget it, it’s mine. Finally I went back to the column I wrote just after we married, in which I described the wedding situation. Maybe I’d forgotten some detail.
I read the thing through twice. It wasn’t one of my best. Finally, something caught my interest: The date. I posted it on March 14th …
2012.
This isn’t our third anniversary. It’s our second anniversary.
So I’m off to find some China, thanks to the librarians. Or some cotton, thanks to someone from Medieval days. Or, I don’t know, a cotton plant made of China.
Anybody want some crystal leather?
It occurs to me that this column comes out on March 5th, my third wedding anniversary.
And by “occurs”, I mean my wife reminded me.
As I wrote a few years ago, it wasn’t supposed to be our “real” wedding. Our intention was to get married here in Indiana, then have a bigger celebration in her home state of Missouri. The first wedding was exactly the kind most guys want: Get it done and over with:
“Mark, ya’ll wanna?”
“Well … ouch! Yep.”
“Emily, ya’ll wanna?”
“I get his stuff?”
“Yep.”
“Why not?”
“By the authority of the World
Wide Web Church Of Nigerian Princes, ya’ll is hitched.”
Just like that. Well, except without the accents, or the hesitation, or the questionable legality. Okay, really not like that at all.
But things happened: medical stuff, money stuff, bad timing stuff. Basically, real life. While we still intend to have that down south celebration, it’s far too late for that be our “real” anniversary.
March 5th isn’t so bad, because isn’t March when things start to warm up, the snow melts away, and we see the first signs of nature’s renewal? Okay, not this year, but still.
So what do we do for our anniversary? For early March, my idea included a trip to a place where you can sit on the beach without seeing chunks of ice, unless it’s the ice in your drinks.
Then I checked my bank account. There will be no dunes this anniversary, unless you count snowdrifts in the back yard.
As I mentioned in my Valentine’s Day column, I really stink at this kind of thing. So, for what to get my wife for our third anniversary I consulted a trusted source: Wikipedia.
Wikipedia is an internet website in which any Joe and his brother, and his brother’s dog (with internet access) can put in information, so it has to be always accurate. Right? So I asked it about wedding anniversaries, and this is the first line:
“A wedding anniversary is the anniversary of the date a wedding took place.”
Why, thank you, Captain Obvious.
But what should I get her as a present? Or should I just skip that and move a couch out to the garage? Too cold for that. So, it turns out there are two kinds of anniversary gift lists: the traditional one, and a “modern” list created by librarians at the Chicago Public Library.
If you need to know something ask a librarian. If they don’t know the answer, it’s not worth knowing.
So, the modern suggested gift is crystal and/or glass. Okay. Crystal! Snowflakes are crystals; I’ll just get her a bowl of snow. Salt’s a crystal; Pass the salt at dinner, and done. Or salt the snow! But no way could it be that easy.
I could go with glass—new windows for the house. I know she wants new windows, but that also seemed a bit too easy.
So I went to the internet again and asked what the difference is between crystal and glass. Turns out the librarians are talking about glass kitchen stuff, like glasses (which, duh) and bowls, and other breakables. As that last word implies, glass kitchen stuff doesn’t last long around my house.
So, what’s crystal? It turns out crystal is just glass, with the addition of at least 24% of … lead.
I thought lead was bad. Although I ate lead paint chips as a child, but it never seemed to have any ill … what were we talking about?
Okay, then what’s the traditional third anniversary gift? Turns out, according to the unimpeachable Wikipedia, it’s leather.
One can go two ways on the subject of leather anniversary presents. The first, which I call “50 Shades of Leather”, is questionable for a column that aims to bore people of all ages. Okay, so what about the second? Exactly when did leather become the ideal anniversary gift? Did women of olden times have a lot of leather underwear? That would explain why the women in old photos always looked so dour: They weren’t chaffing only because they couldn’t vote.
Armed with this, I knew instantly what my wife would like for our third anniversary: Tack. For those of you who don’t know (I didn’t, until my horse-loving wife told me), tack is all that stuff that goes on horses while they’re being ridden, like the reins, and the bridle (which isn’t related to brides at all), and bits, which are apparently the stuff that the horses bite. Better it than me.
So tack for my wife, who loves horses, and I actually did some window shopping before I remembered we had no horse. Just a horse-sized dog.
This whole time something had been bothering me, something niggling at the back of my mind. I’d been ignoring that as I searched for leather and crystal, or maybe crystal leather, which might be a brilliant invention and forget it, it’s mine. Finally I went back to the column I wrote just after we married, in which I described the wedding situation. Maybe I’d forgotten some detail.
I read the thing through twice. It wasn’t one of my best. Finally, something caught my interest: The date. I posted it on March 14th …
2012.
This isn’t our third anniversary. It’s our second anniversary.
So I’m off to find some China, thanks to the librarians. Or some cotton, thanks to someone from Medieval days. Or, I don’t know, a cotton plant made of China.
Anybody want some crystal leather?
