H/T Eddie
Tuesday, December 27, 2011
Monday, December 26, 2011
Sunday, December 25, 2011
Merry Christmas
I'm sure the Chinese peasants who toiled over the manufacturing of this "tree" were just as full of Christmas spirit as a Tweetin' Alec Baldwin prevented from playing a game on his phone.
At any rate, I've got a lot of things to be grateful for this holiday. We got some snow while I was off in North Dakota - not sure how much but at least a foot. Hasn't even begun to melt - it's real heavy and gonna soak in slow, just like we like it. Friday night, my house greeted me with a rather unfriendly chill - my blue flame propane heater had decided not to run. Turns out it just needed some judicious cleaning with some 'puter air in a can. Of course, I'd used up my supply on - 'puter keyboards and blowing out cooling vents in the ol' laptop. I got the thing running Saturday morning, and then got ready to drive to OK to Sis's house today - just too pooped to pop Saturday.
Got all the required phone calls to relatives in, and have been watching the Duke on AMC. ABC had How The Grinch Stole Christmas on tonight, so we absolutely had to watch that! Sis has that damn show memorized even better than me! "Little Cindy Lou Who, who was no more than two" indeed!
Merry Christmas, everyone! Hope yours was a good one!
Saturday, December 24, 2011
You Have Termites In Your Smile
link Better version here, embed is disabled.
So, what is your favorite Christmas show? Pretty obvious what I like! It's really a toss up between How The Grinch Stole Christmas and A Charlie Brown Christmas, due in large part to the song Linus and Lucy.
Linus and Lucy - Click here for more blooper videos
To think actual jazz was utilized in a kid's Christmas show. The horror. The horror.
To think actual jazz was utilized in a kid's Christmas show. The horror. The horror.
Thursday, December 22, 2011
Tuesday, December 20, 2011
At The Super C-Store
In Belle Fourche, SD. I think this could be classified as commercial folk art. Heh.
Monday, December 19, 2011
Stupid Tax
I will be paying it.
On the way home last week, the Mighty Binder started flashing the "check engine" light. Everything still ran fine - the software didn't derate the motor, but it could happen at any time. Derating is when the 'puter decides that in the interest of preserving the motor from severe damage, power is reduced considerably. One can limp for a few miles to a shop, then it's all over and time to get fixed.
I pulled up the code (you can do that in trucks, as opposed to the OBDII for cars requiring a reader) and called it in to my supervisor. Navistar claimed it was a Caterpillar code, and the CAT boys claimed it had to be an IHC code. I Googled it, and it looks like the CAT boys win - it has to do with a sender that measures barometric pressure, or the circuit it is in.
So, this morning, it was off to the closest International shop - in Dodge City. I, however, was in an extra truck. It's another 9900i almost identical to mine, but it's black, and the paint has literally fried on it. IHC really picked up some lousy black paint that year. The paint on my hot rod looks new.
Anyways, my load wasn't ready this morning and I had to wait. The original plan was to make it to Belle Fourche, SD on our way to the Bakken in ND. It was windy as hell and a hard pull, and I had to stop for fuel in Valentine because the mileage was so bad. But, the wind slacked off, and I'd been discovering that this truck didn't run like a slug - it really got down to bidness. It felt way more lively, seemed to accelerate faster, and it showed another ten to twelve pounds on the boost gauge. So, it pulled pretty good, and I was trying to take advantage and make up time.
All of which I lost when I met the South Dakota State Trooper north of Mission, SD. Seventy seven in a sixty five zone. I got written up for ten over rather than twelve, which will help things considerably, but it's still a $105 fine - and I'm not sure if that includes court costs yet.
Didn't even come close to making Belle Fourche, either.
Sigh.
On the way home last week, the Mighty Binder started flashing the "check engine" light. Everything still ran fine - the software didn't derate the motor, but it could happen at any time. Derating is when the 'puter decides that in the interest of preserving the motor from severe damage, power is reduced considerably. One can limp for a few miles to a shop, then it's all over and time to get fixed.
I pulled up the code (you can do that in trucks, as opposed to the OBDII for cars requiring a reader) and called it in to my supervisor. Navistar claimed it was a Caterpillar code, and the CAT boys claimed it had to be an IHC code. I Googled it, and it looks like the CAT boys win - it has to do with a sender that measures barometric pressure, or the circuit it is in.
So, this morning, it was off to the closest International shop - in Dodge City. I, however, was in an extra truck. It's another 9900i almost identical to mine, but it's black, and the paint has literally fried on it. IHC really picked up some lousy black paint that year. The paint on my hot rod looks new.
Anyways, my load wasn't ready this morning and I had to wait. The original plan was to make it to Belle Fourche, SD on our way to the Bakken in ND. It was windy as hell and a hard pull, and I had to stop for fuel in Valentine because the mileage was so bad. But, the wind slacked off, and I'd been discovering that this truck didn't run like a slug - it really got down to bidness. It felt way more lively, seemed to accelerate faster, and it showed another ten to twelve pounds on the boost gauge. So, it pulled pretty good, and I was trying to take advantage and make up time.
All of which I lost when I met the South Dakota State Trooper north of Mission, SD. Seventy seven in a sixty five zone. I got written up for ten over rather than twelve, which will help things considerably, but it's still a $105 fine - and I'm not sure if that includes court costs yet.
Didn't even come close to making Belle Fourche, either.
Sigh.
Sunday, December 18, 2011
From the Road Again
I've been pretty slack in posting, but after you hear my excuses story maybe you'll find it in yer heart to forgive me.
Five of us went to Woodburn, OR - which is just south of Portland. I'd never been that far west before, even considering a trip to California several years ago. Of course I took a few pictures - usually at 75mph, or in Communist Oregon - about 60mph, since their truck speed limit is still 55mph. Sheesh, even Communist Illinois has raised their truck limit to 65mph. Get a clue, Oregon!
Well, before we got to Oregon, we had to traverse Wyoming along I80. One of the neat features is the Lincoln Highway Memorial located at exit 323 east of Laramie. It has a bust of Abe's head perched on a pedestal, and was originally placed on the highest point of the old Lincoln Highway. It's pretty much the highest point on I80 right now.
A slightly better view from the eastbound side. Westbound - I kinda had my hands full trying to pass a slow chicken hauler, go around a curve, and drive seventy five.
This is dropping down into a little valley where I80 heads south and I84 splits to the north. Clearly, there is no chance of going straight ahead. The valley and pass that I84 follows on the way to the north side of Salt Lake City also has a small river and a railroad located within the confines. The river is full of rapids, and during the summer, one can ride on rental rafts. Not for this fat boy, thank you very much!
This is part of the climb up Cabbage Hill on I84 between La Grande and Pendleton, OR. Technically, Cabbage is the west side and this climb has another name, but to an ignernt trucker such as myself, it's all the same and it's known nationally as "Cabbage Hill," regardless of what the locals call it.
I've posted about these forests before - this is a stand of Pacific Albus (hybrid) near Boardman, OR along I84.
Not long after running over the fairly flat farm plains of north central Oregon, I84 drops into "The Gorge" and runs along the banks of the Columbia River. It also serves as the state border with Washington. There are several locks along the way, and we did see a few barges.
Another sweeping view of the road and how it follows the winding river.
Sometimes the edge of the Gorge is deep, tall, and close to the water.
And here I am eastbound out of Cheyenne getting close to the Nebraska border, where the town of Pine Bluffs, WY is located. Why do you suppose they named their town that? Heh.
And just as a bonus - a truckin' story. When I was between Laramie and Rawlins, I saw a Wyoming State Trooper with a truck on "my side" as I went by. I wasn't breaking any laws, was empty, and all my paperwork (as far as I knew) was up to snuff. So, imagine my surprise and unease when the trooper appeared rather suddenly in my mirrors with the disco lights on.
I pulled over, and retrieved my license and all my truck registration papers, which are kept in a fabric notebook, and waited for the officer to come to my door. Sure enough, she wanted that, my physical card, and all kinds of other stuff. I had a pretty hard time understanding her, because she definitely had an accent that said rather loudly "Not From Here." She asked me where I'd delivered, so I told her. She asked if I had come across Wyoming loaded, and if I'd purchased a permit. I had, so she wanted to see it. She wanted to see my last two fuel receipts. I had those, plus my first one was purchased in Wyoming, if she needed that. Nope, just the last two. My logbook was also needed. Plus my trailer registration. We keep our trailer registration papers on the trailer in sealed containers, so I had to fish it out. It was also about fifteen degrees outside as well. I was having problems fishing out my fuel receipts from my packet in the wind, so she invited me to sit in her back seat momentarily. She was driving a Dodge Charger. The front seat was completely full of electronics - most notably the laptop placed at a strategic angle above all the other stuff in the right seat. The back seat was separated from the rest of the car by a wire mesh divider that separated the back half of the seat and the front compartment. I expect a midget could fit in - when I sat down, I could not get my head under the roof nor get my legs in the absolutely no legroom space. My knees were ten inches too far out, and my head was about eye level with the roof. I doubt the Dodge Charger will ever be a choice for personal transportation for this fat boy, cuz I'd never fit.
At any rate, Ms All Business took pity on me and told me to wait in my cab. Ten or fifteen minutes later, she came up to the driver's door and told me she wanted me to open my right door so she could climb in. I laughed, saying the right side of my cab had more junk than her car! She asked me to open the window - she'd hang off the mirror and hand me back my stuff and have me sign the paperwork, etc. After she clambered up (she was certainly well insulated from all the cold - her face was the only feature of hers exposed), she determined that would not work. I suggested we meet at the front of the truck, at least we could understand each other slightly out of the wind there. That was indeed the ticket, so that's what we did.
I had passed with flying colors, and just needed to sign two copies of the inspection sheet, and make sure my copy was handed over to my company. They are required to keep those. So, now that she was friendlier since I wasn't Joe Lawbreaker, I asked - "You sure don't sound like you are from around here!" She replied that was the case; she was originally from Argentina.
There has to be quite a story there, and I'd sure have enjoyed the chance to hear it first hand. I rather suspect the amount of female Argentinian Wyoming State Patrol officers could be counted on one finger. But, it was on down the road for both of us. It took me another five minutes to get all the paperwork back into the proper places before I could go on - she took off with the Dodge V8 singing it's tune through the exhaust pipes, hammer down.
Perhaps you noticed, or maybe you didn't. Was there any sort of probable cause to pull me over?
Nope, there was not.
How can they do that?
Because I and my truck are subject to laws that suborns my individual rights to the rights of the public expecting "safety" from the behemoths of the road. By far and large, most accidents involving trucks and "four wheelers" are determined to be the fault of the owner operators of the personal conveyance vehicles. Logic would indicate that drivers of cars might, just might be subject to greater scrutiny, but since they outnumber us dumb truckers in the voting department, we're screwed.
So if using using cell phones in any wheeled conveyance on public roads is banned, don't expect any sympathy from me. Y'all let me dangle on that and so many other issues a long time ago.
Five of us went to Woodburn, OR - which is just south of Portland. I'd never been that far west before, even considering a trip to California several years ago. Of course I took a few pictures - usually at 75mph, or in Communist Oregon - about 60mph, since their truck speed limit is still 55mph. Sheesh, even Communist Illinois has raised their truck limit to 65mph. Get a clue, Oregon!
Well, before we got to Oregon, we had to traverse Wyoming along I80. One of the neat features is the Lincoln Highway Memorial located at exit 323 east of Laramie. It has a bust of Abe's head perched on a pedestal, and was originally placed on the highest point of the old Lincoln Highway. It's pretty much the highest point on I80 right now.
A slightly better view from the eastbound side. Westbound - I kinda had my hands full trying to pass a slow chicken hauler, go around a curve, and drive seventy five.
This is dropping down into a little valley where I80 heads south and I84 splits to the north. Clearly, there is no chance of going straight ahead. The valley and pass that I84 follows on the way to the north side of Salt Lake City also has a small river and a railroad located within the confines. The river is full of rapids, and during the summer, one can ride on rental rafts. Not for this fat boy, thank you very much!
This is part of the climb up Cabbage Hill on I84 between La Grande and Pendleton, OR. Technically, Cabbage is the west side and this climb has another name, but to an ignernt trucker such as myself, it's all the same and it's known nationally as "Cabbage Hill," regardless of what the locals call it.
I've posted about these forests before - this is a stand of Pacific Albus (hybrid) near Boardman, OR along I84.
Not long after running over the fairly flat farm plains of north central Oregon, I84 drops into "The Gorge" and runs along the banks of the Columbia River. It also serves as the state border with Washington. There are several locks along the way, and we did see a few barges.
Another sweeping view of the road and how it follows the winding river.
Sometimes the edge of the Gorge is deep, tall, and close to the water.
And here I am eastbound out of Cheyenne getting close to the Nebraska border, where the town of Pine Bluffs, WY is located. Why do you suppose they named their town that? Heh.
And just as a bonus - a truckin' story. When I was between Laramie and Rawlins, I saw a Wyoming State Trooper with a truck on "my side" as I went by. I wasn't breaking any laws, was empty, and all my paperwork (as far as I knew) was up to snuff. So, imagine my surprise and unease when the trooper appeared rather suddenly in my mirrors with the disco lights on.
I pulled over, and retrieved my license and all my truck registration papers, which are kept in a fabric notebook, and waited for the officer to come to my door. Sure enough, she wanted that, my physical card, and all kinds of other stuff. I had a pretty hard time understanding her, because she definitely had an accent that said rather loudly "Not From Here." She asked me where I'd delivered, so I told her. She asked if I had come across Wyoming loaded, and if I'd purchased a permit. I had, so she wanted to see it. She wanted to see my last two fuel receipts. I had those, plus my first one was purchased in Wyoming, if she needed that. Nope, just the last two. My logbook was also needed. Plus my trailer registration. We keep our trailer registration papers on the trailer in sealed containers, so I had to fish it out. It was also about fifteen degrees outside as well. I was having problems fishing out my fuel receipts from my packet in the wind, so she invited me to sit in her back seat momentarily. She was driving a Dodge Charger. The front seat was completely full of electronics - most notably the laptop placed at a strategic angle above all the other stuff in the right seat. The back seat was separated from the rest of the car by a wire mesh divider that separated the back half of the seat and the front compartment. I expect a midget could fit in - when I sat down, I could not get my head under the roof nor get my legs in the absolutely no legroom space. My knees were ten inches too far out, and my head was about eye level with the roof. I doubt the Dodge Charger will ever be a choice for personal transportation for this fat boy, cuz I'd never fit.
At any rate, Ms All Business took pity on me and told me to wait in my cab. Ten or fifteen minutes later, she came up to the driver's door and told me she wanted me to open my right door so she could climb in. I laughed, saying the right side of my cab had more junk than her car! She asked me to open the window - she'd hang off the mirror and hand me back my stuff and have me sign the paperwork, etc. After she clambered up (she was certainly well insulated from all the cold - her face was the only feature of hers exposed), she determined that would not work. I suggested we meet at the front of the truck, at least we could understand each other slightly out of the wind there. That was indeed the ticket, so that's what we did.
I had passed with flying colors, and just needed to sign two copies of the inspection sheet, and make sure my copy was handed over to my company. They are required to keep those. So, now that she was friendlier since I wasn't Joe Lawbreaker, I asked - "You sure don't sound like you are from around here!" She replied that was the case; she was originally from Argentina.
There has to be quite a story there, and I'd sure have enjoyed the chance to hear it first hand. I rather suspect the amount of female Argentinian Wyoming State Patrol officers could be counted on one finger. But, it was on down the road for both of us. It took me another five minutes to get all the paperwork back into the proper places before I could go on - she took off with the Dodge V8 singing it's tune through the exhaust pipes, hammer down.
Perhaps you noticed, or maybe you didn't. Was there any sort of probable cause to pull me over?
Nope, there was not.
How can they do that?
Because I and my truck are subject to laws that suborns my individual rights to the rights of the public expecting "safety" from the behemoths of the road. By far and large, most accidents involving trucks and "four wheelers" are determined to be the fault of the owner operators of the personal conveyance vehicles. Logic would indicate that drivers of cars might, just might be subject to greater scrutiny, but since they outnumber us dumb truckers in the voting department, we're screwed.
So if using using cell phones in any wheeled conveyance on public roads is banned, don't expect any sympathy from me. Y'all let me dangle on that and so many other issues a long time ago.
Thursday, December 15, 2011
Monday, December 12, 2011
Sunday, December 11, 2011
I Want One
Yannow, lots of us carp about bad manners, entitlement mentalities and such quite a bit. So, if you're not into hearing about me bitching about those subjects, this post ain't gonna be for you.
I help moderate a private page on Facebook. The subject of the page really doesn't matter to this discussion, so I'm not gonna say anything about that. Just as an aside, going off topic here - Facebook should make these little group pages more like a forum. The organization is far better, and finding information is much, much easier. Plus, it's easier to post rules as well. Turns out we needed some in place.
Part of the fun of this page is going back in time to our childhoods. Now, that can be bittersweet - not all memories are positive for a lot of people. It sure isn't for me, so I can relate. There has been a lot of pain exposed on this page, and for some people, it's been therapeutic. It wasn't all lollipops and unicorns for many of us, and venting helps.
But for others it has been an excuse to malign others in the group. Their agenda is to get even for being picked on as children, and the justification is that they were, in fact, picked on. There should be no other justification necessary - being bullied gives them a special status that shields them from any responsibilities or adhering to some sort of societal norm. Cross the line? So what? Move on? Never! They now have the right to vent about their pain any time any place and name names. Plus, they can deliberately be mean and catty to others who had no involvement with their childhood just because of the pain they suffered as a child from bullying.
Now let's look at another facet of life - dating. I'm certainly a poster child for failure there - I finally got tired of the mind games and just quit. With my health the way it is, I have little to offer physically anymore, plus I'm so set in my ways and irascible, you best not cross me. Just. Don't. Take. It. Anymore.
Specifically, I got tired of being lied to. When I was on a date and everything seemed to go well, and the evening ended on a good note, and my companion suggested that I call her to do this again? Well, I took that seriously. If they really wanted to go out with me again - cool! Let's do it! Conversely, I'm a big boy and can take rejection. If they thought being with me was like pulling teeth, then by all means, just say no. Be honest. I was, and will be, and I expect the same in return.
Boy, have I ever been disappointed there. Got the phone number from the parties in question. I was told to call later in the week. I did. I left a message. I'd never hear back.
Okay, I can take a hint, but it's just freaking rude. If someone has changed their mind, fine. If they had no use for me, fine. I've dealt with that before. Never went batshit crazy or even close.
So I developed a "three strikes" rule mostly for myself. I'd call the second time, and remind the person that I'd been invited to call, and this was the second time I'd called with no response. I'd say I did have a good time on the date and thought it might be fun to try to repeat. Even if I'd figured I was tossed under the bus, I'd give them the benefit of the doubt. The third phone call? That's when I'd burn the bridges - I mentioned this was the third time, I wasn't going to call anymore, and I wanted nothing from them nor cared what they thought any more. If they didn't have the good manners to be honest with me, or misled me from the start, or changed their minds - no matter. I had no use for that kind of behavior. How the hell can you have any sort of relationship with someone who lies? Not for this fat boy.
Often, I'd run into one of their friends later. "Oh, you just have to remember, she just came off a bad relationship with so and so, the asshole, so she's afraid." Oh, she's still touchy about the messy divorce from her abusive alcoholic ex hubby and that's why she did that to you." You see, the bad behavior of someone in their past justified the ill treatment I received.
So, let's get this straight. If someone dumps all over you in the past, that means you now have the right to dump all over someone else in the present, manners, good taste and honesty be damned. You, the aggrieved party, now have an escape clause to treat people like shit.
Like the Get Out of Jail Free Card from Monopoly. Mkay, but I have some questions. How does one apply for this card? Is it rewarded by a divorce judge?
"I hereby decree the petitioner is allowed a "Hurt in the Past Card" that relieves the petitioner of any moral responsibilities in future dealings with the opposite sex."So, is this thing like a frequent shopper card? X number of punches and it's no good anymore? Or is there some sort of tribunal where one applies for a renewal? Or is this card good for life no matter what? Is this card only good for relationships? Perhaps there is another card available for those who were bullied as children? How long is that one good for? What are the restrictions, if any? How about transfers? Can you use it in handicapped parking? Why not - this person was unfairly hurt in their past, surely some good parking at Wal Mart is the least we can do to make their lives better now. For that matter, why shouldn't the card get you a pass in the "15 Items or Less Line" as well? I mean, c'mon! This person was hurt in the past.
I can see all kinds of situations where this card would be handy. Long line at the DMV? Not for a "Hurt in the Past" card holder. Ten percent discounts at participating merchants? Good enough for the AARP, good enough for our card holders. Denny's could offer a free meal on the anniversary of the card's award date, or the day the divorce was final, or whatever. Nothing would be too good for the members.
Why not being excused for perjury? Why the hell not? It's supposedly socially acceptable to be untruthful in certain social situations or to be a complete dick in public if your past contains pain, why shouldn't these pore people be excused from being honest in court? That's right, yell "Fire" in the theater all you want, baybee. We understand.
This story has been making the rounds lately - LeaAnn and Ace linked to it. Basically - it was a guy who met a gal for a concert - the original gal backed out for some reason, and this one took her place as a sort of blind date, and he basically stalked her. As I understand it, he spent some serious effort to find her email address and her phone number, and then gave her a critique on "twirling her hair" among other things. The kicker was the 1600 word email he sent her.
That is the flip side of bad behavior - the guy was reading more into their "date" than was really there, and then went on a stalking spree. Not for this fat boy, either. Like I said, three strikes and they're outta here. I'm not wasting any more time on 'em, and looking back, I shoulda probably went with two strikes. The second call was to be polite, and like I said - the third was for me to burn bridges.
Apparently, I've expected too much from people. I should be satisfied with getting tossed under the bus for convenience sake, and I should realize that pain justifies treating people like shit. Silly me.
Bleak House, or Cows Gotta Eat Anyways
This is the sight that greeted me yesterday morning. We get heavy frosts, but generally the wind is blowing hard enough that it doesn't build up like it did here. The wind was beginning to fire up, so it looked like it was snowing. Alas, it was just the frost coming off the trees. The ground was littered with little crystalline feathers, all spiky and sharp looking. Obviously, this didn't bother the cattle, who were grazing away contentedly.
Then it warmed up and all of this was gone - just a memory of the illusion of moisture remains.
Friday, December 09, 2011
Wednesday, December 07, 2011
Tuesday, December 06, 2011
Sunday, December 04, 2011
Saturday, December 03, 2011
Friday, December 02, 2011
Going Downhill
Jeffy was just having trouble tying his shoes. Now he can't even tell if he's got them on the correct feet.
Thursday, December 01, 2011
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