Hasten Thee to the Derby!

I like writing funny stuff... well, at least I think it's funny.  I especially get a kick out of writing things in a "Scriptural" style.  Several years ago I wrote this thing about the Pinewood Derby.  Before I got married I made and raced Pinewood Derby cars (I never lost a race, but I'll brag about that some other time).  Winning at the Pinewood Derby is something of a family affair, with my Uncle David being my major inspiration.  I still proudly display my cars in our home, though I haven't made any new ones for several years.  Time and budget constraints really put a hamper on my PWD R&D.  Not too long ago I came across this thing I wrote.  I don't know when or why I wrote it, but I got a kick out of reading it again after so long.  The first thing I thought when I read it was that Uncle David would appreciate this.  So I sent it to him.  He told me how much he liked it, so I decided to up it up here, just in case anyone else cared to read it.  Looking at it now, there are things I wish I had written differently, but I decided to leave it as it is.  I hope you like it.  

The Book of the Derby

Now behold, there dwelt in the city of Hillsboro a man named Phil, who was a man of few talents.

2          And it came to pass that in the tenth month of the year it was the tradition of certain of the people to gather together to celebrate and race their Pinewood Derby cars.

3          Now it was that all of the people, save Phil, did put off preparing their Pinewood Derby cars to race, some even did procrastinate their work until the day of the derby.

4          And Phil said to himself on this wise:  lo, though I be a man of little talent, I shall begin early the work on my derby racer, lest by my sloth I am overcome at the derby, and I prevail not.

5          And though this be but the sixth month I shall trust in the wisdom of God, that through his wisdom I might be delivered.

6          Thus did Phil begin at an early time, yea, even an exceedingly early time, to build and prepare his car for the derby.

7          And it came to pass that Phil did labor with his might and with his power tools and with his calipers and with his magnifiers, yea, even with all the means which he had been blessed with. 

8          And Phil did labor with his hands for many months, and after spending all that he had on this one car, he raised up the work of his hands and said:

9          Behold the work of mine hand!  Through the strength of the arm of the Lord, who has magnified my talents, have I built this Pinewood Derby racer.  And behold, it is beautiful and desirable above all other cars that before I have made. 

10        Blessed be the name of the Lord, for through his wisdom shall I overcome my adversaries.

11        Now after many days came Phil to the place where the multitude had gathered together to race their cars and to cast their eyes upon the cars of their adversaries. 

12        But the heart of Phil was stirred within him with fear, for he feared that his car should not prevail over all the others, notwithstanding his cars never have been beaten.

13        Nevertheless, Phil did beat his breast and gnash his teeth and sweat great drops of sweat, but trusted in God for his deliverance. 

14        Now behold, in the first race Phil’s car prevailed, and he was much relieved. 

15        And in the second race, Phil did overcome his adversaries, his car being faster than all others by an embarrassing amount. 

16        And lo, in all the races did Phil’s car outpace those of his adversaries, even so that after all the races had been raced, Phil had not been beaten. 

17        And thus was Phil crowned with glory and did receive a small plastic trophy, and he was glad in his heart that the racing had been concluded. 

18        But behold, though Phil was crowned with glory and honor, many of his adversaries did not cease to complain, saying among themselves that Phil had been dishonest in the making of his car, and accusing him of using all manner of unnatural means of obtaining his victory over them, notwithstanding Phil’s perfect uprightness before the Lord in building his Pinewood Derby car. 

19        Now his adversaries did murmur against him, saying that he should give up his trophy, and be disqualified from the races. 

20        Nevertheless, despite their murmuring, Phil’s adversaries did question him unceasingly concerning the building of his car, hoping to build their cars as did he, so that they too could be triumphant. 

21        But because of their complaints, Phil did become cross with them, and did give them no tips to improve their cars.  

Warning: Following Photo May Disturb Morons

In a previous post I mentioned getting Charity a special something for Christmas.  I got it for her last year, but we didn't think she was old enough.  She just turned 3 and she's smart enough to start learning.  Santa left her new toy (among many others) under the tree.  Here's Charity showing it off. (Please note the pleasant dichotomy between her oh-so-girly lounge wear and the new object of her affection)

At first she didn't know what it was.  When we told her, she didn't really know what to make of it.  See, she hasn't really seen my guns, so she's really not sure what they do or why they're fun.  I started by showing her how to hold it, how the bolt works, and what the trigger does (along with very stern directions on where not to point it).  

She didn't seem too thrilled until she pulled the trigger for the first time and it made a reasonably loud, though very poor, imitation of the sound of a gun being fired.  She is sometimes frightened by loud sounds, so we worried that the noise it made would turn her off to it.  We were idiots.  At the sound of the first firing, she lit up and got really excited to handle it and work the bolt and pull the trigger.  After a few minutes she told us, very matter-of-factly, "I'm going to go shoot some targets.  I will be back in a while."  

Needless to say, if my heart weren't made of frozen granite, I would have wept.  I'll be honest; I'm not thrilled that she was excited about having a gun of her own, or even having fun handling a gun.  I was thrilled that she was excited about something Daddy loves.  For example, assume I were an avid fisherman (though I've never before caught an avid), or a stamp collector, or reality show junkie.  I would be thrilled that she got, respectively, her first fishing rod, stamp album, or lobotomy.  

I don't have a lot of memories from when I was a kid, and most of the things I remember are bad.  Not that I had a bad childhood or anything.  It's just that for some reason, most of the memories that my brain has chosen to store are unpleasant ones.  I guess it's just the way I'm wired.  Some of the few happy memories I have are of my Dad and I going shooting together.  It was fun for me because I got to be with my Dad and shoot guns.  How cool is that!  I'm guessing that a lot of the fun for Dad was getting to nurture in his son the love of something that was important to him.  That's the way I am, too.  That's part of the reason I'm so happy that Charity is so fond of books; it's something I love and that is important to me.  Sharing that with her is kind of a special bond that ties us together.  I hope that someday it's the same with shooting.  

What if she grows up with no interest in shooting?  Will I be disappointed?  Honestly, yes.  For the same reason you would be disappointed if your long-planned trip to Disneyland got canceled at the last minute.  It's something you've been looking forward to for a long time, and now it's not going to happen.  But she's my daughter, and if she chooses fishing, or stamp collecting, or... not that other thing... I'll be okay with that.  I will do my best to love those things right along with her, unless it's that other thing, in which case she's pretty much on her own.  It would be fun to learn to do something new together.  I will love her no matter what.  

Ah see, now I'm getting all mushy.  Stupid emotions.  

Umm... Could You Please Repeat That?

If you, like the vast majority of Christmas gift recipients, got something for Christmas that uses batteries, I've got important consumer information!  The following excerpt comes from a toy that our daughter got for Christmas.  It's titled "Battery Instructions".  Enjoy! (As this is a verbatim transcript, I will kindly delete the [sic] notations that would commonly accompany a masterpiece such as this.  You'll see why.)

INFORMATION FOR USERS OF EQUIPMENT HOME
According to Law by Decree at 25    July 2005 art. 13, which carries out the Directives2002/95/CE, 2002/108/CE regarding the increase of use of toxicsubstances into the electric and electronic equipments and into waste disposal.
The symbol showing the rubbish skip crossed, which is putted on equipment or on packaging, means that you need to pick up the product at the end of its live, separately from the other wastes,
so, the user will has to bring the equipment expired to the "Recyclable - waste collection centre" about electric and electronics equipmments or when he will buys a new equipment, which must be equivalent as the old, he will has to give this old equipment shopkeeper.
The right waste disposal, which allows to send this expired equipment to recycling and wastedisposal Centres, allows to avoid the negative effects of waste on environment and on people'shealth.
Moreover the right waste disposal favours the reycling of equipment's materials, The abusive waste disposal of product causes the application of disciplinary measure containing in this law normative.

Now that we're all educated on those points, I've thought of some other funny instructions I'll probably put up here later.  After all, I'd hate for anyone to be caught in the act of abusive waste disposal and thus have the normative law disciplinary measures bring ruin to you and your family.  This is for your own good.

Charityism

Charity was having fun playing with us on the floor.  We were apparently on a camp-out, using a worn out black umbrella as a tent, with all three of us huddled beneath it.  Charity let us know that it was dark and time to sleep.  After a few minutes she decided it was time to wake up, so she told us that the rooster was doing his cock-a-doodle-doo routine to let us know it was time to get up.  The rest of it went something like this...

"Daddy, it's time to wake up.  Wake up!"

"Charity, I don't want to wake up.  I want to stay asleep because I'm tired."

"Daddy, it's time to wake up.  I hear the rooster and the sun is up.  It's time to get up."

"I don't want to get up.  Can't you make the sun go away?"

"Ummm, no, I can't; I don't have a gun."

I'm not sure if Charity understood why Carlene and I were laughing so hard.  That is probably not a verbatim transcription of the event.  For example, Charity would have been unlikely to use a semicolon, as she tends to prefer full stops.  

I hope that she's very sad about not having a gun, because I would like to rectify that deficiency someday soon.  Yes, I know she's not yet three, but it's never too early, is it?  If she complains to you about how terrible it is to be an unarmed toddler, you should know my secret.  I've got a special something I've had hidden in the garage since last Christmas.  It isn't real (well, it's a real toy), but I think it will be a good tool to teach her some safe gun-handling basics.  I'll have to post a photo of the joyful event on here after Christmas.  She knows that a 12-sided shape is called a dodecahedron, and the hangy-down thing in the back of your throat is called a uvula.  I think she can handle some basic gun safety stuff.

All I have to do now it convince my long-suffering wife

By the way, does anyone know where I can get a toddler-sized shooting sling and jacket?  Apparently you also can't start training for the Olympics early enough, either.

Fare Thee Well, Peanut Butter

I always thought Peanuts was over-rated anyway

"Ah, Peanut Butter, my dear, dear friend.  We've had so many good times together; So many memories.  Peanut butter and jelly sandwiches in my lunch box.  Peanut butter Reese's eggs at Easter.  PB Max.  Oh Peanut Butter, we've been so close these last 34 years and it seems we grow closer every day.  I know... it's been a thankless job, keeping me filled with protein and healthy fats.  You've always been there when I needed you.  Remember those halcyon days when I would roll you up in a tortilla for a snack?  Ha ha!  The youthful innocence of it all!  You've been so good to me, but I think it's best for both of us if we go our separate ways.  It breaks my heard to say goodbye, but alas, it must be so.  You have always been a faithful companion and I'm sure you will find a loving, compassionate peanut butter eater to call your own.  As Shakespeare said, "Parting is such sweet sorrow, especially when that sweetness is swirled in with chocolate Tillamook ice cream."  Thus we part; Me full of happiness for the moments we've shared, you overflowing with endless possibilities for the future, and with no regrets.  Sad, yes, but we shall hold our chins up and our elbows at shoulder-level and march triumphantly into the dark unknown, you at a rapid clip, me at a slow meander, because I haven't had enough protein today and my blood sugar is low, looking to our memories together for strength and solace.  Just remember, Peanut Butter... I still love you, and I will never stop loving you, especially on toast with a little honey.  Adieu, my delicious friend, adieu."

I wrote this in an email to my family a couple weeks ago after I found out that I am allergic to peanut butter, among many other things.  I really enjoy writing junk like this, though I don't know why, because it's kind of pointless.  After I sent it out I thought of other things I would like to have written differently.  Although I thought of modifying it for this post, I didn't because I have a tendency to get carried away with this sort of thing (like you couldn't tell).  Do I really want to spend the next several weeks editing this thing in my brain, just trying to make it... I don't know... 3% funnier?  Not really.  It's dumb enough as it is.  

I got tested for allergies before this email went out and was kind of surprised to find out what I am, and am not, allergic to.  Obviously, I am allergic to peanuts, as well as soy, corn, rye, birch trees, and some other things I've already forgotten.  I'm going to go back in for more tests in a couple weeks to see if I'm allergic to more stuff.  I now have to carry an Epipen (two of them actually [post idea for another day: Why it would be nice if men could carry purses and why no man would be caught dead carrying one even if it was cool]).  Soon I will probably have to get a little bracelet thing that tells the world about my allergies (another post idea for another day: Man-jewelry, the cons and cons; Why it's stupid even if it can save your life someday).

Cutting peanuts out of my diet has been fairly easy.  The hard part has been soy.  If you don't read labels (I didn't until this all started), soy is in EVERYTHING.  Vegetable oil is really soybean oil, and it's in every food.  Soy protein, soy lecithin, soy whatever.  I'm having a very difficult time eating around soy.  I've joked that I should stop eating at all, as that would save us a lot of money on our food budget.  That isn't far from the truth, because if I know it has soy in it I have a hard time making myself eat it.  So nothing sounds good to eat.  But I find myself eating stuff with soy in it because it's almost unavoidable and some of it is so yummy.  What a dilemma.  So for the moment the best I can say is that I'm on a reduced-soy diet.  I still feel like dirt, but at least it's a start.

Forget It

I've been thinking of something witty and urbane to say about the results of today's election.  Something to make me feel better after what I just saw happen.  I thought about it in the shower, where most of my worthwhile thinking is done (only kidding - I don't do any worthwhile thinking).  There must be something wrong with our shower because nothing came to me.  I was looking for the shower of the universe to turn on the faucet of inspiration and wash over me with the soft waters of knowledge and give me the pruney fingers of wisdom.  But I just ended up getting the shampoo of political frustration in my eyes.  As I tried to dry off the dampness of depression with the smelly towel of reality, it hit me.

"Eh," I said to myself, "who cares."  In ten days nobody will remember this blog post, and posting this will change nobody's mind.  Those who are ecstatic over today's outcome will probably never understand why other people are not.  Those who are depressed with today's events will never be consoled by wise words or stupid metaphors.  Writing it doesn't make me feel any better, so I don't expect reading it will help you.

Quick tangent: I am just a little glad that when our daughter grows up she, like my grandfather did, will have sad tales of hardship and scarcity.  I hope that those experiences will make her a better person than I am.

While George Bush was president I got mighty tired of having to ready snarky bumper stickers glued to hybrids extolling the intelligence of the driver by bad mouthing the man in the Oval Office.  I hope it doesn't happen over the next four years, though who could blame anyone for doing so at this point.  I was hoping to think of something as sharp and biting as those (now mostly removed) hybrid bumper stickers.  But I realized that they sound stupid regardless of the party the driver votes with.  So there's really nothing I can say to do anything for anyone at this point, and seeing how this isn't especially cathartic for me, I guess I may as well just wrap it up.  The only thing I do have to say is this:

My family has guns.  If you voted for the incumbent and at any time within the next four years you come to my house in a state of near starvation, asking for food or handouts, you will make an excellent source of protein.