Month: July 2005

When you’re number two you just don’t give a damn

Alas fair giant dalmatian-spotted fire hydrant in downtown Beaumont, Texas, I hardly knew you as the world’s largest. Today you are second largest. But you are the only giant dalmatian-spotted fire hydrant in town, so that makes you our giant dalmatian-spotted fire hydrant.

I really have a great appreciation for the big hydrant. Of course, I was a firefighter back in my college days. But I also appreciate the whimsy that such a structure inspires. I don’t even mind that it’s only the world’s second-largest fire hydrant.

Beaumont became home to what was the world’s largest hydrant in 1999 when Disney re-released “101 Dalmatians.” Disney had the hydrant shipped to Beaumont where it was placed in front of the Fire Museum of Texas. Roadside America , those chroniclers of all civic bigness in this land, describes the festivities the day the hydrant was dedicated:

“The fire museum marching band kicked off with the movie’s signature song, “Cruella De Vil,” while 101 Texas firefighters danced around the hydrant, climaxing as it sprayed firefighters with water and confetti. They shielded themselves with Dalmatian-spotted umbrellas. Then the firefighter families headed off to a complimentary screening of the film.”

The 24-foot hydrant’s reign as the world’s largest came to an end in 2001 when a 29 1/2-foot hydrant was built in Elm Creek, Manitoba. Damn Canadians! But it is okay with me to have the second-largest in the world, at least for now. In the meantime I will be thinking about how we might elevate the hydrant another six feet so it can rightfully reclaim its title as world’s largest. I just hope the folks who built the world’s tallest building in Taipei don’t decide to erect a hydrant to beat the Canadians. That could set off a full-scale hydrant race and I don’t think anyone wants that.

We split and fought a bit but we’re still family

Another senseless act by terrorists. This time killing and injuring those in London. This is just totally insane. These extremists who pervert Islam to suit their needs are willing to die for their cause, whatever it may be. They apparently have been influenced by some very good bullshit artists. America has some of the best bullshit artists on the planet. It’s time for them to come to the aid of their country and their world and put the energy they use selling cars, soap or dog food to fighting terrorism.

It’s hard not to be angry and negative about such stupidity as the London bombings. But I shall do my best to refrain and give my best wishes for the folks of London. And I hope they catch the evil bastards responsible for the carnage.

Sometimes I find that the only way to get something out that is stuck inside your head is through brain surgery. Since that is a little extreme I shall try another option which is to coax that intruder out of my head by making it look so ridiculous that it will slink off in shame.

What is stuck inside my head is a song Bob Seger did about 25 years ago called “Fire Lake.” Particularly bothersome are these lyrics:

“You remember Uncle Joe
He was the one afraid to cut the cake … “

First of all, no I don’t remember Uncle Joe unless you’re talking about Uncle Joe Stalin who is pictured up above. And I don’t really remember him because I think he was dead by the time I burst into the atmosphere. Well, there is Uncle Joe Carson from the old TV sitcom “Petticoat Junction.” But he was a bachelor. And I am dangerously assuming from the song’s lyrics that this Uncle Joe is married because Seger goes on to sing:

“Who wants to tell poor Aunt Sarah
Joe’s run off to Fire Lake … “

Now I do have a friend named Sarah, but I am almost positive Seger is not talking about her because she isn’t married and certainly not to anyone named Uncle Joe. I don’t even know if she is an aunt.

Perhaps most mysterious is that this Uncle Joe whom Seger expects me to remember is afraid to cut the cake. Why? Will it explode into a great fireball and consume the room? Or maybe the cake is for someone else and Uncle Joe fears an ass-whupping if he cuts it before the other person has a chance to cut it? He might be talking about a toilet cake. I’d be afraid to cut one of those under certain circumstances.

The whole song seems to be about death, according to Wikipedia :

“In Christian theology (and Biblical imagery), the lake of fire is a place of perpetual torment (see Revelation 20:14, 21:8). In popular culture, the term “Fire Lake” has been used to indicate reaching the end of the line or death.”

Wow. Maybe Uncle Joe was afraid he would choke on the cake and die. That makes a little more sense. But I still don’t remember Uncle Joe. Sorry Bob.

Pretty cool house in the neighborhood

Blogger was having some issues with its new Blogger Image feature. Since Sunday I was unable to post photos from my computer and most of the time was unable to post from the Web. But I found out on Blogger Forum this morning that I was not alone. After testing as well as just now receiving two e-mails replying to my two e-mails to Blogger about my problems, the issue appears fixed.

This did get me to try out yet another pic site, Buzznet, on which you can upload pictures then copy html code to post to your blog that gets the photo there. I kind of like that. But the relatively new Blogger Image is just the best because it’s like one-stop shopping. I had to visit Flickr and FotoFlix while Blogger Image was down. I liked Hello from Picasa, but it apparently doesn’t do Windows NT. Hey, that sounds like I know something about computers! I know how to turn them on and off. Those are my strong points.

I thought that to celebrate the return of Blogger Image to its old self I would share a pic of the McFaddin-Ward home, which is about six blocks down the street. I lived closer to it when I lived in Beaumont before. I still haven’t visited the home, which is kind of a museum to old rich white folks during the time the Spindletop gusher blew in across town more than 100 years ago and started the nation’s modern oil industry. Maybe we can start a collective farm on the grounds. Just kidding!

“Quote the Raven: Nevermore.”

A really good reason exists why I have this picture of a couple of grackles sitting on the bed of my pickup truck as seen from my outside rearview mirror. Unfortunately, I don’t know what that reason is.

This is among the photos I took during a week’s comp time back in January in which I cut a wide swath across Texas and Louisiana. The photo was taken as I waited to catch the ferry in Cameron, Louisiana. That’s back when I had a job. It seems so long ago.

Oh yeah, now I know. Truck. I wanted a photo of my truck and this is all I have digitally. I was going to use a picture of my ’98 Toyota Tacoma to pontificate on how doing it yourself doesn’t always equal doing it right.

I set out to do two tasks that should be relatively simple for even someone as ignorant about automobile mechanics as I am. That would be changing the air filter and changing the PCV valve. What do these things do? Well, let’s see. The air filter, I suppose, filters air. It collects all the dust, tumbleweeds, marijuana, Corn Nuts and assorted other paraphernalia before such objects wind up in your automobile’s gisdetta. PCV stands for pernicious composite voltage which doesn’t at all explain its function because I made that up, just like gisdetta. But whatever the function of these creatures are they, like babies, need changing from time to time. Fortunately, you usually don’t encounter baby crap while changing a PCV valve or air filter just as you don’t usually experience busted knuckles and grime changing babies’ diapers. Okay, some of you may. I’m not saying everyone doesn’t.

The air filter was literally a snap, or literally four snaps. But I couldn’t get the PCV valve out. I tried and tried and tried some more resulting in blisters on five fingers, three of which are now bandaged. Finally, I couldn’t take it any more. I took it to this shop where this nice man yanked out the old valve in about 9/10 a nanosecond. “You just wanted someone to break it out,” he said. Which I did, but I just didn’t have the skin left to do it. He didn’t charge me anything, the most decent thing that happened to me today. I guess the least I can do is plug his garage: Winslow’s at the intersection of Calder and Kennedy in Beaumont, Texas. Many thanks.