Why math is important.

We all did it. Well, the 'normal' ones anyway. All through Jr. High (that's Middle School for you younguns) and High School. We complained incessantly about math. Why do I need math? When am I ever going to use math? Why do I need to know how to divide fractions? And on and on with the whole "I don't need math" rants.

Never mind that math is so basically and utterly important in every day life. Never mind that you use math constantly, without even thinking about it. To figure out how hard you have to stomp on the brake pedal at your current speed so you don't hit the lady crossing the street with a baby carriage? Yep, it's math.

But forget all that stuff. You NEED math. It is essential. Because you people in the 7th grade now, in about 30 years your probably going to have kids in the 7th grade. And guess what? They are going to be taking math. And they are going to ask for your help. Do you really want to look stupid to your kids?

Ancient methods of the plumbologists

It is said, whispered really, in the great halls of plumbers, that the ancient practitioners of plumbology had a great and closely guarded secret. It is not discussed openly. Very few will actually admit to believing in the tales. Somewhat like UFO's. Many want to believe, but few will actually admit to believing. It is currently rumored that some scholars of plumbology have stumbled upon something that borders on the miraculous.

After spending centuries chasing the secrets, and spending untold billions of dollars traversing the globe, it is said that a small, but powerful group of elite plumbologists have happened upon ancient writings which reveal the grand secret. That is the secret of hot water. No, not just water heaters, or just heating regular water, but of actually creating hot water from nothing. Just out of thin air so to speak.

This is my belief. I can't help it. I have tried for months to figure out another explanation, but, believe it or not, this one seems most plausible. Let me explain:

Back in February "Bertha", the water boiler at the downtown YMCA was replaced. She was old and tired and had seen her best days long, long pass. It was time to put her out to pasture. But now, this new hot water system boggles the mind and, quite possibly breaks several laws of physics...or psychics...or something like that.

This is what happens; one enters the shower area and turns the shower on to hot water. As expected, a short time elapses and hot water comes pouring from the shower-head. Then a second person enters the show area and turns his shower on to hot water. The first person, having spent more than 4 decades in learning the proper mannerisms of hot water behavior, tenses, ready for his show to get colder as person 2's water gets warmer.

That is where the magic comes into play. It has to be magic, because I can find no other logical explanation; and as Sherlock Holmes once said "We must fall back upon the old axiom that when all other contingencies fail, whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth." The magic is that the when person 2 turns on his hot water, the water for person 1, instead of getting colder, actually get hotter! Amazing! I know, I know, I can hardly imagine it myself, but that is what happens, as true as I'm sitting here typing this out.

How else can this be explained? Water gets hotter the more of it is required? And colder when less hot water is required? It is so backwards. I'm certain that the physics police, or the quantum militia are, even right now, as I type this, hot on the trail of those brave, intrepid plumbologists who have not only discovered, but have had the gumption to actually use this ancient and forbidden wisdom.

Swollen shoulders

A conversation between No. 2 Son and myself at the YMCA one morning:

No. 2 Son: "Dad, I think there is something wrong."
Dad: "Why? What do you mean?"
No. 2 Son: "My shoulders, they're all swollen."
Dad: "Well, do they hurt?"
No. 2 Son: "No, they're just swollen."
Dad: "Let me see." Observes No. 2 Son's shoulders closely. "Dude, they aren't swollen, that's just muscle."
No. 2 Son: "Really? How?"
Dad: "Well, you know how we've been coming to the Y? And how we've been lifting weights? Well, that's what happens when you lift weights; you get muscles."
No. 2 Son: "Cooool."

Missed a day

Well I missed yesterday's post. I apologize for that, and promise to strive to ensure that it never happens again. I had a good reason though - really. Today is Little Sister's birthday, and we had her party yesterday. So my house was full of squealing, giggling 8 and 9 year old girls running up and down the stair and in and out the doors. In short, complete and utter chaos.

Little Sister isn't one of those 'follow the crowd' types of girls. Oh sure, in some she is, but mostly she isn't. Case in point, for her birthday cake, she wanted a cheesecake (girl after daddy's own heart that one). So Friday night we worked together and made a cheesecake. The 5/8 had also purchased a regular cake because she thought there was a possibility that some of the girls might not like cheesecake. I told her she was nuts, that no one in their right mind doesn't like cheesecake. Turn out, I was wrong, there were some girls that didn't like cheesecake. The 5/8 gleefully made a note on the calendar because, you know, it isn't that often that I am wrong.

Lessons Learned

If your house is full of fruit flies, and you simply can't for the life of you figure out where they are coming from; check the kitchen window sills for mangoes you might have placed there - two or three months ago - to ripen.

Oh, and mangoes don't smell when they rot!

Have a great weekend everyone!

Some things never change

Can hardly wait. Monday 25 September is the season premier of Heroes! And just in time too. I wasn't quite certain what I was going to do with my Monday nights now that "Saving Grace" ended its first season. Which, I might add, was a tremendous season. The redneck angel Earl is a hoot to watch. Sure, it is quite dicey at times, and the show, in my opinion, would be just as good without seeing Holly Hunter tied naked to a bed with a happy face drawn on her back and some guy's name drawn across her buttocks in lipstick. But it is what it is.

On the home front, Topeka High is set to lose another football game tonight. Don't get wrong, I love the Trojans, but I am also painfully realistic. No. 1 Son is in the marching band and MJROTC so he has to be there for every home game. I wish I had thought of that back at enrollment when we purchased the $40 activities card. The activities card gets him into all of the home games free, and, by coincidence, being in the band and MJROTC, he gets into all of the home games...free. The MJROTC kids clean up police the stadium after the games and pick up all the trash.

It never fails that when one thing slows down, another jumps in to take its place. For instance, for the past 8 years or so Friday night has been "Dad's game night." A group of friends from across the country get together online and play video games and talk about life, the universe and everything over voice chat. We used to use Roger Wilco, which was a great, tiny free app, but have since switched to Teamspeak, which is another free app, but has a server component to it. A couple of years ago, for some reason, I seemed to become the Teamspeak host. So instead of having to manually start the server every time I rebooted my machine, I wrote a Windows Service to do that for me. Now it is always running. The problem we are running into now is my DSL. For the entire four or five years that I had cable internet I think my IP address changed maybe three times. With DSL it seems to change three times a week. So every Friday, as part of the routine, I send out an email address to the folks with the new IP address.

Crap, did I get off the subject or what? Okay, so I was saying that when one thing slows down, something else jumps in. We have established that for nearly the past decade, Friday night is dad's game night. About a year go, mami started having real problems driving at night, so I agreed to pick papi up at the casino up north on Friday nights and every other Saturday night. Well, that put quite the damper in my Friday game nights because picking papi up isn't as simple as just driving the 30 minutes up there an back. I have to drive up there, and then wait for him to finish up. If I am not in one of those moods where I become disrespectful, this could take up to an hour or more.

For about the last 6 weeks he has not gone up to the casinos. w00t! I get my game nights back! Did I mention No. 1 Son is in the band? And has to attend all of the football and basketball games. Okay for those following along at home, that means that I 1) get to take No. 1 Son to the football/basketball games and 2) pick No. 1 Son up from the football/basketball games. Granted, this is not nearly as time consuming as making the trek up to the casino to collect papi, but nonetheless, it really cramps my style. I mean seriously. Do you realize how hard it is to be really in the zone, wiping out the enemy in Raven Shield, then have to stop to go pick up some danged teenager at the ball game, and then try to re-enter the zone? It is nearly impossible, I telling you.

Pete's Barbers

When I was a kid, my brothers and I would always get our hair cut at Pete's Barber, down on 8th street in downtown Topeka. My father always took us there. Pete's was that kind of quintessential barber shop one thinks of when they think of a barber shop. The kind that Floyd had back in Mayberry. Complete with the spinning red, white and blue barber pole just outside the door.

I don't remember the shop ever being empty. Whenever we went in there was at least one person in the barber chair, and usually two or three older men sitting in chairs along the wall. I don't think they were there to get their hair cut though, just to chew the fat because we always went right after the fellow in the chair was finished.

The first time ever that I saw a woman's breast was at Pete's Barber. Well, not a breast really, it was artwork. Pete had a calendar, and above the months was the picture of a lady wearing some sort of lingerie. My dad motioned for me to look and he lifted a clear film from the lady, the film is what the lingerie was drawn on, and beneath, the lady was pure nakedness. For a twelve year old boy, that was pretty exciting. Sure, it was a small picture, and sure it was clear across the barber shop, but I knew what I was looking at.

Pete had an employee named Don. Don was quite a bit younger than Pete. He had that cool beach boys hair cut and wore turtle necks a lot. Pete is, of course, gone now, but Don is still there. The place is now called Don's Barbers. Except that there is only one Barber. The chairs are looking old and somewhat grimy and the spinning red, white and blue barber pole just outside the door is broken. It was smashed some time ago and I can't think of when. I have taken my kids to Don's to get their haircut a couple of times. That trip was usually followed by a trip to Super Cuts because, to be frank, Don just doesn't seem to be able to cut hair strait. The Beach Boy do and the turtlenecks are a thing of the past. Maybe, like Samson's hair gave him strength, those things gave Don the ability to give a decent hair cut.\

As always, thanks for visiting!

A post a day

Hello, dear reader, I am going to try something new here. An experiment of sorts. I am going to make a commitment to make at least one post a day for the next thirty days. I can't pretend that they will be about me, or my family, or my home town as most of what is on this blog. And I can't pretend that anything I write is going to be worth reading. Of course, I never tried to pretend that in the first place. Some things come out and I think 'wow, that's really good.' But let's face it, most of the stuff - well - most of the stuff would fall into the category of "all most, but not quite, completely horrible."

I don't know what the purpose of this exercise is. I haven't thought it through all that much. I don't even know why I'm doing it. It isn't like I've lost a bet or feel the extreme urge to make a complete ass of myself. It is nothing like that. I was simply setting up the coffee maker for the morning brew, and the idea popped in my head. I don't know where it came from, or even if the idea was meant for me in particular. I suppose it could have just been floating around out there in space and for some unknown reason, I happened to walk into it at just the right angle, and just the right time and it latched on to my mind.

Whatever the reason, I've got it in my head to do, so I will. Be warned though, it isn't like I'm some great purveyor of words or anything like that. I hope that you'll continue to stop by, even if what I am writing over the next thirty days is complete and utter crap. And I hope that, once in a while, you might drop a comment every now and again to let me know what you think.

As always, thanks for stopping by!

What to do with the ball?

I'm not a huge sports fan. I'm not one of those people who sit around all weekend watching every and any types of sports. I can't list off any stats for any particular team or player. Sure, I watch the Chiefs when the chance arises, I watch (or listen to ) the Royals when I can. But honestly? I can't tell you who one pitcher is on the team right now. I'm not certain I could tell you anything about the team except who they are going to play next. That is simple, it is who they usually play - the winners.

But when I was a kid I was baseball crazy. We had Freddie Patek, Cookie Rojas, Amos Otis, George Brett, John Mayberry and the pitcher who was the Mad Hungarian - I can't remember his name, but I remember he had the cooolest mustache - EVER.

I remember when Hank Aaron hit the ball that broke Babe Ruth's record. I had the poster. It was a pretty big poster. There, in the lower left corner was Aaron, he'd just finished his swing, the bat still in his left hand as he looked up at the ball. The ball, on the other hand, was really just kind of a white looking smudge. Whoever made the poster had put a large white circle around the ball in the picture. They had to or else I'm not sure most people would have seen the ball at all. In the lower right corner of the poster, was the home run wall the ball was going to breach. On the back, were the stats. It listed Babe Ruth's stats and Hank Aaron's stats. Of course, my pa, being the quintessential party pooper that he is just HAD to point out to me that Aaron only broke the Babe's record because he played in like 50% more games than Ruth did. Thanks, way to burst the bubble there pops! But that didn't really bother me all that much. I still had my Hank Aaron signature Louisville Slugger bat, and my Hank Aaron signature Rawlings glove.

Unless you have been living in a cave, I'm certain you know that Aaron's home run record has been topped. It was broken by a fellow named Barry Bonds. Again, unless you have been living in a cage, or just possibly don't watch TV, listen to the radio, read a newspaper or surf the 'Net (which, really, means you won't be reading this anyway, so please disregard that last one), you will know there was quite a bit of controversy surrounding Bond's breaking of the record. There is a lot of speculation (probably rightfully so) that Bonds is/was a steroid junkie. That many of his home runs came while he was juiced up. And many believe that Bonds does not deserve the glory if he was junked up.

I came across a website which seeks the question which is, I'm certain, on everyones' lips (no, not 'why am I wasting time reading this') which is "what to do with the record breaking baseball. The ball currently belongs to a Mark Ecko. He claims he purchased the ball to 'democratize' what happens to it. He has a website at http://www.vote756.com/marcecko/ - where he gives visitors the opportunity to vote on one of three ways the ball should be handled.

1. Give it to the Baseball Hall of Fame
2. Brand it with an asterisk, and then give it to the Baseball Hall of Fame
3. Send it into space

The voting ends on 25 September - so if you want a say in what happens, hurry on over. My guess is that the vote will say 'brand it'. But that is just me, I could be wrong. I didn't pay all that much attention when it happened. So I am way out of touch with what the average baseball fan's thoughts are on the subject.

I think, though, that I'm going to vote for the branding. I wish there was a "brand it and send it into space" option, but there isn't.


Technorati Tags: Hank Aaron, Babe Ruth, Barry Bonds, Homerun, Steriods, Marc Ecko