Eight Feet Deep

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.

It appears Tropical Storm Cindy knew I wouldn’t be at home if she came knocking so she decided to go in the other direction. The latest forecast discussion from the National Hurricane Center says:

“THE STORM APPEARS TO BE MOVING DUE NORTH…AND A WEAK SHORTWAVE
TROUGH APPROACHING THE MISSISSIPPI VALLEY IS EXPECTED TO INDUCE A
TURN TOWARD THE NORTH-NORTHEAST WITHIN 12-24 HOURS. THEREFORE THE
OFFICIAL TRACK FORECAST IS ADJUSTED SLIGHTLY TO THE RIGHT OF THE
PREVIOUS ONE.”

That previous track had been to the east of where they figured the storm would go Monday afternoon, which was somewhere along the central Louisiana coast. That was after the previous forecast that it could hit somewhere along the Texas-Louisiana border.

It is somewhat disappointing. Not that I want to get a direct hit from a tropical storm, but the fact we probably won’t get any rain or temporary relief from these hellish temperatures. Do you know what you call the downside of living in Texas? July and August. But we don’t do much winter around here. That’s an upside.

For the time being, at least, I’ve installed a counter at the bottom of my blog. I don’t know how good these things are at measuring traffic. But it’s something to do. It is kind of like the highway department counting traffic.

“Yep. That’s 20,140. Yep. That’s 20,141. Yep. That’s 20,142 … “

But like the dog chasing the car, what does the highway department do with the traffic count? They make maps. And charts. And they come up with ideas of what kind of road they would build at that specific location if only they had the money — which they don’t.

What will I get from the counter? Who knows. It says I’ve had 7 visitors in the past 24 hours. That’s reassuring. Somehow. Maybe I will build a better blog using this information. Maybe I will just stay in bed.