The ol’ Saturn came from the factory just 14 short years ago equipped with an electric sunroof. Somewhere between then and when it came into my possession, the sunroof was the victim of some type of catastrophic event that resulted in a twisted, screeching, scraping sound being emitted whenever you push the open button. It was really quite horrifying the first time I pushed it, almost like a Bengal tiger had descended onto my car and was attempting to peel back the roof like a can opener.

For the first few years, I just accepted that the sunroof was broken and wouldn’t open. But the cover that normally slides forward to hide the glass part was also broken, and stuck in the rearward position. So I always had the sun shining in on my head. One day I decided I would try to fix it. Three minutes of tinkering, then pushing, then pounding and I was through trying to fix it and just wanted to see if I could manually force it open.

I was somewhat successful, in that it opens now, but not without some sort of prying device. Luckily I keep a crowbar in my trunk, so this summer I promoted my crowbar to the passenger seat for quick access on hot days. It’s common now to see me in the parking lot after work prying at the sunroof of my car just like in Grand Theft: Auto. Except one look at the car and everyone knows I’m not stealing it.

Yesterday, I had driven to work with the windows down and sunroof open (because the A/C quit working and I can’t justify spending any money on it, it would be like resealing your driveway when your house is on fire). It seemed sunny enough, so I went into work without thinking twice. About 5 minutes into a 1pm conference call, it was brought to my attention that it was now raining. Hard. Like rivers in the parking lot hard (too soon to The Nashville Flood of 2010?) I ran outside, closed everything up, got drenched, and looked forward to getting home with a large wet spot on the back of my pants that evening.

So today, when I got to work, I played it smart and left only the passenger window open so that I could continue to air out the car from the internal hose-down of the previous day, but minimize the damage should another storm pop up.

And another storm did pop up. But this time, as I weighed my options, the prospect of running out into the rain to save only the passenger side of my car seemed less automatic than in the past. A thought occurred, “What if I leave it?” Passenger seat and floor get soaked. Not the first time that’s happened, probably more like the 15th (seriously). I am in no more discomfort than normal on my drive to and from work for the next few weeks before it drys out.

So I remained seated at my safe, dry cubicle while water poured into my car. Meh.

Note: I have zero intention of ever reselling this car to anyone, or else I might care more. My conscience couldn’t take it. Between the broken parking break, the leaky window seals, and the disintegrating interior, I’ve decided that it’s my moral obligation to ensure that the only part of this car that will ever be reused anywhere is the engine, since it seems like it will never. ever. die.

In recent years, I’ve seen the addition of a neat little feature on microwaves: the “Quick Start” buttons, which can start your food heating for a minute with the push of a single button. Nice, although if you would have told me that I would have a device in my home that can shoot deadly radiation at the push of a single button, I would have hoped for a ray gun of some sort.

Well that neat feature has now taken over the entire interface of my microwave. Instead of having separate 1, 2, or 3 minute “Quick Start” buttons like I used to see, now they’ve combined the function of the standard 1-6 numeric buttons with the quick start functionality. Now, I fancy myself a tech savvy guy, so I figured, “Fine, so if I want to cook something for 20 seconds, I’ll just have to push the Time Cook button first… somewhere here….. must be missing it, check again……….. There’s no time cook button.”

I proceeded to pound on the buttons randomly like a monkey, and finally achieved my goal. So let’s recap:

Old process for cooking something 1 minute:

1. Press 1
2. Press 0
3. Press 0
4. Press Start

New process for cooking something 1 minute:

1. Press 1

Verdict = Win

Old process for cooking something 20 seconds:

1. Press 2
2. Press 0
3. Press Start

New process for cooking something 20 seconds:

1. Press 2
2. Swear because microwave starts up at 2 minutes
3. Press cancel
4. Search for Time Cook button
5. Press random buttons with varying degrees of failure
6. Swear again
7. Realize 5 year old son is standing behind you
8. Convince son not to tell Mommy where he learned that word
9. Stumble upon Power Level button which displays current power level
10. Accidentally bump 2 button and discover that it has switched to taking a time input now
11. Press 0
12. Press Start

Verdict = Fail

A lady I work with and her husband had the first floor of their home underwater this weekend. I was able to go and help with some of the cleanup yesterday. I wasn’t sure what to expect, I’ve never seen flood damage first hand.

As we drove up to their street, I was wondering if we were in the right place. All the houses on the adjoining streets were fine. I saw a guy getting home from work, getting his newspaper and going inside. As we turned onto the flood damaged street it was like entering another world. The yards were full of debris: construction trash, ruined furniture, destroyed possessions, limbs, fences. It felt like driving through a tornado ravaged neighborhood, I didn’t notice that all the structures were in tact because of all the carnage in the front yards.

By the time we got there, all the furniture had been removed from the first floor, as it was all completely destroyed. Our friends had ripped down the wet drywall and insulation, so we hauled it out of the house. We ripped out the kitchen cabinets and tore up the flooring. Most of their privacy fence had been ripped right out of the ground by the force of the flood waters, cement post footers and all, so we cleaned up as much of that as we could find along with their destroyed patio furniture and debris that had settled in their back yard.

Being in one of the actual homes damaged by this flood with the homeowners brought the devastation to a level of reality for me that I didn’t understand before. Looking around, the place barely even resembled a house anymore. Walls were kicked out, exposing the framing. Everything was wet and smelly. And our friends had to look at it and be reminded of how nice things were just a few days earlier. I know if it were me, I’d have a lot of “why” questions, and would just want to turn the clock back and wish it had never happened. It would be very hard to be motivated to work on it.

I was tired after the back-breaking work, and looked forward to going home to shower and relax. These folks were undoubtedly far more tired than I was, but didn’t have the luxury of leaving it behind them and going home (a coworker of mine put them up in a rental house they had available, but it’s not home).

The good part is that my company has really rallied around them to try to take care of them in every way possible. The Nashville community has shown why Tennessee is called the Volunteer state, and I’m seeing this for the first time as a relatively recent Nashville transplant. That said, I don’t want to be one of those people who uses the positive stories of help and good deeds to make myself feel better, then goes on happily with my life while the flood victims still have to get up tomorrow to the reality that their lives have been drastically changed. The struggle will be ongoing for them, and the effects of this disaster are going to be felt for a long time. The course of many lives have been permanently altered because of it.

My dad would give us a safe opportunity to look at any new gun he brought into the house and let us shoot it (though I was too young to shoot his shotguns, although I do remember him letting me shoot his Colt 45, the kick scared the crap out of me). It took the mystery out of it, they weren’t like the forbidden fruit anymore, but even with that, I knew that touching any of his guns outside of those opportunities meant bad, bad things for me. Of course, he kept them unloaded and the ammunition was kept somewhere that I wasn’t aware of.

So then came the question of why we need a gun in our house. It wasn’t all that many years ago when American citizens needed to arm themselves to defend their nation from an invading army. And if that still seems too unlikely for you, look at what happened in New Orleans following hurricane Katrina. If chaos breaks out due to natural disaster, I’m not going to put the safety of my family at risk because of my trust in the inherent good nature of my fellow man. So between that and the rumor of the current administration’s gun control plans (taxing them to oblivion, making it impractical for me to purchase one), we decided that now was as good a time as any to buy a home defense firearm.

So with all that out of the way, I needed to decide on the type of firearm that would serve us best. A handgun is small and would be easily fireable by my petite wife, but I wanted something that would have a higher intimidation and recognition factor. The best home defense gun is the one that never has to be fired.

So I decided on a pump action shotgun. It takes an elite, rare level of crazy to come after someone holding an easily recognizable 12-gauge boomstick. And the sound of the loading mechanism lining up the next shell for launch could be enough to scare off an intruder all by itself.

I considered a few variations of the Mossberg 590, then came across a 2006 Remington 870 Express Magnum that a coworker was selling. It has a short barrel (18.5″), pistol grip and side-folding stock for easier maneuvering in tight quarters. A magazine extension allows for an extra 3 rounds (total of 7) before needing to be reloaded.

I like the idea of a shotgun just in case my wife would ever need to use it because when shooting buckshot, aim is less important.

Here it is, in all it’s glory:

And of course, being a geek, the first thing I did when I got it was take it apart to see how it worked:

So I skipped a run to give it time to rest, and it seemed to be fine. So I tried a 5 mile run, but 2.5 miles in, the pain returned and was more severe. I was still able to finish the 5 miles, but it was pretty uncomfortable. At this point I knew it wasn’t just going to go away, but I told myself that if I had to run in pain on race day, it would be worth it.

As a last ditch effort, I took 10 days off (right in the middle of a key training time, as mileage increased each week) to make sure it was completely rested. I started taking omega 3 fish oil, as I read that could help with joint lubrication. So after the long rest, I headed out for a 5 mile run on Saturday.

Half a mile in, the pain was worse than ever, and extended down my leg to my ankle. I was able to run 1.5 miles, then had to walk back. Even after just that short jog, my knee was worthless the rest of the weekend, and walking up or down stairs was really painful.

So, I guess that’s it. My knee seems to just hit a wall around 9 miles, that’s 2 years in a row. I suspect it’s a cumulative effect, and 3-4 months of training just adds up and eventually breaks my knee down. I shouldn’t be surprised, my knees took a pounding all through high school, since I was in sports year round every year.

The most frustrating part is that I’ve already paid the price, but I don’t get the prize at the end. I got up in 25 degree weather and ran, spent time away from my family for almost 4 months, with the motivation being the race at the end, crossing the finish line and being able to say I had run 13.1 with my friends and coworkers. I paid the price of training, and now with 2 weeks before the race, I have to sit on the sidelines and watch everyone else claim their reward. *sigh*

The good thing is that I lost almost 30 pounds while running. In a few months, I’m sure I’ll appreciate that more, but it still hurts to miss out on the Country Music Marathon this year.

I was in fourth grade, and Reebok Pumps were THE thing. I remember the commercials, where some NBA player would reach down, squeeze a few pumps of gravity-defying juice into his shoes, then sky over the competition and rip off some crazy windmill dunk or something. Clearly there was a coorelation between having a rubber bladder full of air in the tongue of your shoe and possessing the freakish natural ability necessary to put 45 inches between yourself and the ground.

Generally speaking, I didn’t usually get the latest fads when it came to shoes, but I think my parents must have taken turns going around with us boys and occassionally dropping the extra money to get the coolest thing, because somehow in 4th grade, I ended up with a pair of black, green, and purple Reebok Pumps. Once I realized that I was still incapable of separating myself from the court vertically enough to dunk, the cool factor wore off a bit.

Soon after, at a class skating party at the local Roller Rink (yep, it was definitely 1989), I was introduced to the brand new Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles arcade game. We hit it off, and really had alot in common. For example: I loved video games, it was a video game. I had a few dollars in quarters, it had a convenient slot to put them in. It was really a bit uncanny. I found it to be somewhat needy, but I really enjoyed spending time with it so I put up with it.

But as with all relationships, we ran into a bit of a snag shortly after our courtship began: I ran out of money. I quickly assessed my options, which, for a 10 year old looking for money, are few. The only thing I had of any value were my shoes, which I conveniently didn’t need at the moment being that I was at a skating rink wearing skates. A friend of mine (who always seemed to have money) had been wanting a pair of Pumps, so I sold them to him for $60. I’ve never been very good at planning for the future, so I’m not sure that I had thought much beyond the skating party, when the rink would be requiring the rented skates back.

I spent the next several hours blissfully transferring every dime (or quarter, as it were) of my shoe money into that wonderful machine. I remember beating it at least once, and paying for my friend who was now the proud owner of my footwear to play too (some parts of that game were just to hard to solo). And as far as I know, my parents never found out that I sold those shoes for arcade money. I have no recollection of how I was able to get home without having my shoelessness noticed, but after that I just went back to wearing my old shoes.

And it was worth every penny.

Usually, to make this happen, I have to drive somewhere, because our neighborhood is on the corner of two country-ish roads that have no berms let alone sidewalks. The edge of the road basically dumps into a ditch, so you have to run on the white line to get any footing, thus exposing yourself to extreme bodily harm from speeding vehicles passing by. Whenever I’ve mentioned the possibility of running on these roads, my wife has voiced her dismay, and even asked me not to on occasion.

But it was early: 6:30, and there was no traffic to be seen on either of the country-ish roads. Since it was only about 200 yards or so down the road that it widened, then eventually grew a sidewalk, I decided to go for it, justifying to myself that my wife’s concern was with the traffic so I was in the clear.

And my trip out was successful. I ran down the side of the road, but no cars came before the road widened and I was able to run on the pavement OUTSIDE the lines.

However, it was about an hour later when I was making my return trip, and approaching the berm-less stretch of road. By then, the nearby high school was beginning to buzz, and so there was a line of speeding cars occupying the pavement between my neighborhood and myself. Just as I had decided that hitchhiking was my only option, I noticed that I could see the back corner of my neighborhood to my right, just past a docile-looking field and some railroad tracks.

I figured that the grass field was considerably less dangerous, so I started my hike. When I got to the railroad tracks, I realized that there was a considerable ditch on the other side, but I carefully made my way down (for the record, running shoes should never be confused with hiking shoes).

At the bottom, I discovered that the last 20 yards between myself and my neighborhood was occupied by large, relentless thorn bushes. You know, the kind that are all entangled vines covered with nasty looking needles and spikes. But I figured I was already committed, plus I thought that if I moved slowly enough, I could step on all the vines and keep them under my feet.

That plan worked. For about 10 seconds. Again, these were RELENTLESS thorn bushes. They fought me, and made their way out from under my shoes where they began snagging clothes and cutting skin. About halfway through the thicket, I saw a break in the bushes ahead. In fact, it looked like a path that I could follow all the way out. As I arrived at the clearing, I discovered why there were no bushes there: it was a small stream running through, about a foot and a half deep. So my choices were to continue through thorn bush hell, or walk through a muddy, freezing, foot and a half deep stream. Having let enough blood for one day, I chose the stream.

So eventually, I arrived back at my house, legs bleeding, shirt torn, shoes soaked and muddy. My wife had the “I told you so” look, no surprise there. I thought running was supposed to be GOOD for your health.

This brings me to my point. I play World of Warcraft on this laptop, and I found it inconvenient to have to drag out a mouse and mousing surface to be able to play WoW, especially if I was just lounging on the couch. So with a little patience and some trial and error, I was able to come up with a keyboard only control scheme for both my rogue and my pally so that I can play WoW on my laptop without the need for a mouse.

Searching the web for such a configuration was futile, so I thought I’d do my part to make the interwebs a better place by posting it here in case some poor mouse-less soul comes googling.

Obviously, your left hand sits on WASD for movement with Q and E close by for strafing. It’s on the right hand that all the magic happens. Ô_ó

First, you’ll need to activate a few of the extra menu bars to be able to house all of the abilities that will need keys mapped to them. I have nearly all of them enabled. Once that’s done, you’ll want to use the Key Bindings settings page to map some keystrokes to a bunch of them. I use the 10-key for all of my combat spells/actions, including the math buttons, zero, and the period. That will give you 15 actions, which should be enough for everything you would need during combat.

For my pally, I have blessings mapped to / * -, judgements mapped to 1 2 3, then all other combat spells get 4 5 6 7 8 9. I put all my seals on the standard number keys, since I’m only casting them once every 30 mins. My pally is spec’d retribution, so I keep a few heal spells close to my left hand on 1-5, and keep my divine shield on my panic key combo, ctrl+1. For convenience, I keep + on the 10-key mapped to my mount.

Now here’s the tricky part: looting without using a mouse. This took a little while to figure out. If you scroll about halfway down the Key Bindings page, you’ll see an “Interact with Mouse Over” option. I have assigned that to V. Now, if you enable auto-loot in the Interface->Controls screen, you can loot a corpse by mousing over it and hitting V. If you keep your cursor positioned just out in front of your toon, it’s always in position to loot the enemy you just killed. I can XP grind for hours, looting the whole way without touching a mouse!

For example, quietly muttering to yourself. I’ve tried this when I’m alone, and it’s awesome. Imagine being able to talk quietly to yourself about the people directly around you without being committed to an institution.

And suspenders. The few times I’ve had the pleasure of wearing suspenders (weddings) have been really enjoyable, but there’s no way I could get away with that now.

Senior citizen’s discounts, AARP benefits, the list goes on and on. I turn 30 next month, I might be able to pull off wearing suspenders then. We’ll see how bad life is on the other side before making that call though.