Monthly Archives: August 2011
Just so you know, I am the Oracle…the Keeper of Knowledge.
Why? Because someone out there on the ‘Net found the answer to that eternal question which vexes all of mankind right here.
Their search – “does rhubarb lose its flavor in august?” led them to this site and to the ultimate wisdom that is awesomesauce.
Yes, if you have a question about vegetables no human should ever have to eat, you have come to the right place for answers.
And, as soon as I figure out how all of this works into my plan for world domination I will let you know.
Definitely one of those.
Part of my job involves telephone communications with our remote IT department.
I speak Texan, they speak Yankee. Don’t even think the two are remotely similar. I may as well say I speak Pongo-Pongo and they speak Thai.
Case in point – I placed a request for an employee to have access to a shared resource on the network.
The folder they needed to access was called “Texas”.
A simple enough request, and yet days went by and it still hadn’t been completed.
I was confused.
Until I got this e-mail:
“Cannot complete request. Folder “Taxes” does not exist on the requested resource.”
A Plano-based toy manufacturing company played a really big part in saving the lives of six soldiers in Afghanistan.
Plano, a suburb of Dallas, is home to Traxxas – a specialty toymaker.
This ain’t your kids’ radio-controlled trucks, cars and boats. The high-end products Traxxas manufactures are outfitted with water-resistant electronics and toughbody construction.
Tough enough to withstand the blast from 500 lbs. of explosives?
Well…no…but tough enough to trip the wire that set off those explosives, and right now there are six very happy families whose loved ones are safe because a little toy truck, called the “Stampede”, took one for the team during a recon mission.
Of course, since it was under warranty, a Traxxas spokesman said the truck will be replaced with a newer model.
Well, well, well…looky here:
The not-Dallas, not-even-Texan – filled “reality” series, “Big Rich Texas” which I was blissfully ignorant of until this morning, has now raised the ire of this Texan.
I am not “big, rich Texas”, but then again neither are the stars of this pseudo-docu-crapola-drama.
Of course, the bios on these babes read like they are Texans but according to Oh So Cynthia they are mostly Californians.
Them’s fightin’ words ’round these parts.
And, to add insult to injury, the “Dallas” country club they all
infest belong to?
It’s in Ft. Worth….further fueling a crosstown rivalry at least as old as the Alamo.
Seems the producers couldn’t find a Dallas country club that would
stoop so low allow them in to film. (Way to go Big D, and Foat Wuth…shame on you!)
You want Dallas reality? Come visit.
You want “Dallas” reality? Watch the classic 80’s drama with JR and the rest of the Ewings.
And then it’s not…and I really don’t want to get started on that again.
I don’t dread Monday, nor am I someone who embraces Monday as the awesomesauce of the week.
Because, you know….ninjas.
Yeah, it’s Friday!
Unless you’re somewhere in Nepal or something and it’s Saturday.
In which case it’s definitely not Friday.
I think I’m causing a time/space continuum vortex-thingy in my head.
But, whatever, here where I am it’s Friday!
And, this week my weekend started today. Which is Friday, unless you are in Nepal and it’s Saturday and it’s a normal weekend…only I won’t be here (in Nepal) on Monday.
But, wait…in Nepal I’m never here on Monday, right? Because it’s Sunday for me.
Holy schnikees…where’s the Tylenol?
Here – look at this while I put my brain back in my head:
I have nothing to say, nothing to wax poetic or blog poetic or whatever poetic about today.
I know, hard to believe I can’t bloviate on something or wax on something or something on something.
So, you tell me about you in the comments…go ahead, no one reads this blog except the two of us.
And, for inspiration….
“Why is there blood dripping from your freezer?” My son-in-law asked, Sunday, as he came in from the garage carrying an armful of water and soda.
“WHAT?!” Was my thoughtful response.
“Blood, there’s blood on the floor and it’s coming from the freezer.”
Anyone who says keeping a body in a freezer is a good idea has never lived through a Texas summer with a freezer in the garage.
Not that I have, or had, a body in the freezer. Just sayin’…the idea did cross my mind, but not that way..it crossed my mind in a way that would make me laugh at anyone who said it was a good idea.
I walked out to the 200 degree garage and looked. Sure enough, not only was my one year old freezer bleeding, it also seemed to have become slightly incontinent as there was a puddle of water on the floor too.
I opened the door and most things were still frozen, the one exception being some kind of gamey ground meat – wild pig or something – that had been given to us a long time ago from someone who thought it was summer sausage. Since it wasn’t summer sausage, and giving it back was just not an option, I had left it in the freezer hoping it would simply disappear into some sort of time/space portal.
It didn’t. It did, however, thaw and start bleeding all down the side of the door and onto the floor.
Sigh…I mourned it’s demise, but didn’t actually clean it up. Maybe I was too heartbroken, or lazy.
One of those.
I went inside to tell Mr. Fix-It (hubby)…really, given enough time and tools he can figure out and fix most anything – just the day before he’d taken apart, troubleshot, and repaired a $30 weedeater. My solution, to these little conundrums, is to go to the hardware store and purchase a shiny, new thingamajig to replace a broken thingamajig, but not Mr. Fix-It. Thank goodness.
“Oh yeah, this happened once before. Was the red light flashing?” He asked.
“Red light?” I said, dumbfounded.
“Yes, the red light on the front control panel.”
He rubbed his brow, “Okay, on the front of the freezer, there’s a number. We usually set it on ‘5’, and right above that is a light. If the freezer is too warm the light flashes red.”
“Really? I didn’t even notice.”
“That is what happened last time. I’ll unplug it for a few minutes and then plug it back in and see what happens. That’s what worked the last time.”
Hubby went out into the garage, confirmed the flashing red-light thingy and reaching around the back of the freezer, he unplugged the machine.
The freezer went off, but so did the fan and other refrigerator, plugged into a completely different socket in the garage.
From this, seemingly random act, I drew the only logical conclusion.
Apparently, hell bent on punishing us for spend nearly $60 on PEZ the day before, the appliance and electrical gods had conspired in that moment to get even.
‘ — they spent $60 on PEZ –‘
‘ — it’s alright, we’re going to fry a few circuits in their house in 3…2….1… –‘
See, that’s the trouble with the electrical/appliance gods, you just never know when a madcap PEZ-buying spree will bring down their wrath. Had I known, I’d of arranged for all this to happen in February.
Now, even *I* know that if a circuit has the little “GFI” tag on it, which translates to, “now-you’ve-done-it-and-have-to-find-which-circuit-is-tripped-and-push-the-little-button-back-in”, you start the scavenger hunt for the tripped circuit. The socket the freezer had been plugged into had the GFI tag on it, but no little pushy-button thingy.
The hunt began.
All GFI outlets in the house – up and running? Check.
All breakers in box – up and running? Check.
Meanwhile, the freezer’s bleeding and peeing had become more noticeable. I put newspaper down and proclaimed that part of the operation complete. I considered, momentarily, drawing a chalk outline around the stains but hubby’s growing frustration made me think twice.
We had food packed into both the refrigerator and the freezer, and by now the garage was 250 degrees and rising.
Hubby decided to hook extension cords to the refrigerator and freezer, run them inside to the utility room and plug them in to prevent
the beer from getting warm a total loss of all the food inside. When we plugged the freezer in the red light had stopped it’s flashy-thingy, so hubby’s original hypothesis was proven correct.
Monday morning I called our local, and highly trusted, master electrician.
“Huh…and you checked ALL the GFIs in the house?”
“Yep. Unless one is in hiding.”
“How long have you lived there?”
“Fifteen years, and we’ve made no changes to the electrical. The house was new when we bought it, too.”
“Huh…well, it sounds like a GFI has tripped..or maybe it’s the socket itself. Either way I can figure it out. I can come out there at 2:00 today, if you want.”
“Okay, so I’ll see you then. And please, can you do me a favor?”
“Please don’t come in, flip a switch and declare it done. Make me feel good, spend a few minutes scratching your head, and then flip the switch and declare it done.”
“Ha! Ha! Okay, deal.”
I just know, for $400 this guy is going to find a breaker we missed, flip it, and be done in fifteen minutes.
Wonder if he’d consider knocking some off the bill in exchange for a nifty PEZ Batman dispenser, and two rolls of assorted fruit candies?