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Fire for Art: Taking Shots to Promote "Cluck"

on October 31, 2008 1:46 PM | Permalink | Comments (0) | TrackBacks (0)

Okay, I would have done this anyway (I've competed in every ACSLNE event to date), but this year it was for "Cluck."

I'll fill in more detail later, once the official ACSLNE website goes live, but since we were covered by NHPR last night I think it's okay to give a bit more of a teaser (you can hear the NHPR story here, and see a video here). So, for now here are some pictures, starting with the founder of the ACSLNE, in a photo that sums up everything that the league stands for: Courage; Fire; Honor!

This was my combat suit, the Mega Robo Pyro Chicken. It was a crowd pleaser, and got me 15 minutes of fame on the front page of the Keene Sentinel. Neither the Sentinel nor NHPR mentioned the method to my madness, which was to promote "Cluck," but that's okay: 15 minutes is still 15 minutes.

This was my first of three opponents, and also the new 2008 ACSLNE champion, piloting under the team name "Wonder boy." Notice the size of that round? I constantly hear people say, "meh, I shoot bottle rockets at my friends all the time." Well, take another look, 'cuz that ain't a bottle rocket. The other thing I constantly hear people say is, "you're one crazy, stupid, suicidal son of a bitch," and well, okay, you've got me with that one.

More on the sport can be found at the ACSLNE official site (coming soon)!

Mid- ... er, Third- life Crisis

knappy

on July 14, 2008 4:50 PM | Permalink | Comments (2) | TrackBacks (0)

I'm at a point in my life and my career where I'm looking for more. I think this may be what people refer to as a mid-life crisis, although I'm not old enough for that yet (I'm not, dammit!). The problem is that I'm torn in several directions: I want to step back from corporate enslavement and focus on my writing and other artistic pursuits; I also want to kick some more ass professionally, because I'm pretty darn good at my day job; there isn't enough time in a day to do both, and my loving wife certainly deserves a better life. It's a dilemma. The career path equates to more money, which leads to the comfort of knowing that bills will be paid, and that food will be on the table. It also leads to stress, more time apart, and all that comes with the Dilbertopia of modern corporate living.

I used to throw pottery, long ago. Mostly in art classes at school, because I didn't own a wheel or a kiln, but I loved the process of it. I used to paint, and was moderately good at it. I've been successful writing, but on a very small scale ... perhaps with some more commitment on my part, I could make enough of a living with words that I could let everything else go.

With an increasingly decreasing economy, it's hard to turn your back on a decent day job (and I should point out that I really like the company I work for, and the people I work with). But when that life takes away from your passions, and still only barely pays the massively-inflating bills, what does one do? Asking for more money is one option, although it is a slippery slope further into corporate lockdown.

This Car Brakes for Satan

knappy

on July 1, 2008 3:55 PM | Permalink | Comments (0) | TrackBacks (0)

It's not often that I have an experience with a company that is bad enough to warrant a public blogging. I'm simply not that guy. I don't return my steak if it's cooked wrong. I don't make a fuss. I don't squeak in order to get oil. I've only been angered enough to make a scene in public maybe one or two times in my whole life, and one of them was at National Tire and Battery last week. I've waited a week to post this because I was that mad.

The story goes like this:

8:15am

Me: Hello, NTB? My car needs new brakes, including rotors, and new boots also. Is there any chance that you can fit me in today? The car isn't really safe to drive like it is.

NTB: Sure, I'll put you in for an appointment. When can you get it here?

Me: I'll bring it right over.

I finish up a few things, arrange a ride back to work, and drop the car off before 10:00am. The day passes ... I hear nothing from them, but no news is good news, right?

3:00pm
Me: Hello? I'm calling to check the status of my car?

NTB: Ooh. Yeah. Well, there's been a small glitch. One of the bolts was giving us trouble, and we kind of foo-bar'd it when taking it off. But don't worry, we're going to fix it on our dime. But we need a part. It's on its way here now, and we'll have the car ready for you in one hour. Is that okay?

Me: Sure ... I work until 5:00 anyway. Just call if there are any more problems.

After work, a friend drops me off. It is pouring rain outside, so I say "thanks" and quickly dash into the store. I wait a few minutes before someone helps me.

5:20pm
Me: I'm here to pick up my car.

NTB: Ooh. Yeah. Well, there's been another small glitch. We got the wrong part. There's another one on its way now, and it will be here in ten minutes. Give us another hour and we'll have everything ready for you.

Me: (groan...) Okay, I guess I don't have a choice. But I really needed to be home on time today, and I still have an errand to run. I don't suppose someone could drive me over to Best Buy (which is just on the other side of a very large parking lot) so I can do that while you finish?

NTB: No, but here's a plastic garbage bag that you can put over your head.

If I had known what I was in store for at that point, I would have wrapped that bag around my head and ended it all. Foolishly, I wrapped the thing around my shoulders and--avoiding suffocation and protecting myself from 32% of the monsoon's wrath--and went dashing over to the big retail electronics chain, with its welcoming blue price-tag facade. I run my errand, which doesn't take nearly long enough. I go next door to a bookstore, and browse the shelves. I am still sopping wet, but starting to warm up. My clothes are getting itchy, and my laptop bag (which is waterproof ... thank god!) is starting to dig a canal of pain straight through the bones and tendons of my shoulder. 40 minutes into my hour, I call back.

6:00pm
Me: Hello? Just checking on my car. Should I buy a book and a coffee, or should I start slogging back there through the rain?

NTB: Ooh. Um. There's been a bit more of a glitch. It seems that your car is a 2001 model, but it was actually manufactured in 2000. So the new part didn't work either. It's going to be another hour. Sorry about that.

My bullshitometer is in the "cow pie" zone at this point, but I have absolutely no choice but to wait ... so I grab a coffee and sit down with a book. Two sips into my caffeine hit, my phone rings.

6:15pm
NTB: Hello, is this Eric? This is [name removed to protect the incompetent] from NTB. I've got bad news. We couldn't get the part we need, and the supply places are all closed. We're going to have to keep your car overnight.

Me: I suppose that it's not drivable ...

NTB: No, we took it apart before we realized we didn't have the parts to put it back together again.

Me: You realize how foolish that sounds. My Grampa taught me to measure twice and cut once when I was only three years old.

NTB: There are really no excuses. I'll make it up to you, I promise.

Me: (trying not to be loud or angry because I am in the sanctity of a bookstore cafe) I'm really not very happy about this. In fact, I'm angry. You've had my car since 10am this morning, and it's routine work. Now I need to get home, and I live an hour away. I'm going to call my wife, who is Scottish, red-headed and aware of how much gas costs. She's going to kill me when I tell her to drive an hour here, and then an hour back home. I was supposed to be home on time today. You are very lucky that I am going to shield you from her wrath.

At this point, I call me wife. Predictably, she is pissed off. I'll spare you the words (which would probably help the page views of this post, as they were very colorful) she used, and skip to the last thing she said, which was "why are we even talking about this? Get them to pay for a rental car - that's a fairly normal service when a mechanic f's up your car." I agree, hang up , and then call my buddies over at NTB. But first, I toss my latte in the trash and head outside so I can talk loudly and angrily if needed.

6:30pm
Me: Hello? I can't get home. I'm stranded. Get me a rental car. (I am preparing to get mad)

NTB: No problem - we'll call enterprise right now, and then call you back.

Me: Don't worry about calling me back. The rain has let up, I'll just walk back there now. Just please get the car as soon as possible, because I am very late.

NTB: Sure thing, no problem. (subtext: would we lie to you? No, we're not that smart).

I walk back.

6:40pm
Me: I'm here ... how long until the rental shows up?

NTB: Um, well ... there's a problem. Enterprise is closed for the day.

Me: (now officially pissed) What? Did you call any other rental places? Hertz? National? Budget? It's almost 7:00 ... you've had my car for an entire day ... I'm mad ... I'm wet ... do what it takes to get me a car now!

They start going through the yellow pages, and find a rental car. They're a bout twenty minutes away, so I sit in the meager excuse for a waiting room until they get there. Luckily, "Malcom in the Middle" is on, which is always a good reminder that life could be worse. Fast forward to 7:30, when the rental car gets there: they give the nice rental-car-driver-guy an imprint of their credit card (a corporate Visa), and I say my fair-wells. They insist that they will make it right in the morning. I don't believe them.

At 8:00pm, we pull into the rental place. The Rental Guy says not to worry, because all he has to do is run the card, get me to sign a simple form, and I'll be on my way. Until ...

8:00pm
RG: Uh-oh. You're not going to believe this ...

Me: No ...

RG: Yup ... their card was declined. We can't give you the car without a card ...

Me: Well, let's call [name removed to protect the poor excuse for a pile of primordial poop] and get a different card. They're still open, I think.

RG: We can authorize yours and deal with it tomorrow, if you want ... we won't charge it unless they refuse to pay.

Me: Well, at this point I don't have much confidence that they will pay, or even that they can!

RG calls the guy, and the conversation goes like this: Your card was declined. No, I ran it twice. Well, I have an imprint of the card, so it's not like I typed it in wrong. Uh-huh ... yup ... I understand ... okay. RG hangs up and says that the NTB-lackey is calling his manager and will call back. He tells me that when that when he said the card was declined, the other guy responded, "I was afraid that might happen ..."

This is unbelievable. Even though I deliberately waited a week before posting this, I'm still getting angry thinking about it. They deliberately gave a bad card, just to get rid of me. When the dude finally calls back, its only to say that he couldn't reach his manager and that he would pay cash tomorrow for the car if I put it on my card tonight. I have no choice, I realize, but I'm not going down without a fight.

8:30pm
Me (to RG): Let me talk to him ... (RG hands me the phone)

Me (to NTB): Remember when I was in your office a while ago? remember how mad I was then? Well, now I am even more mad. I am royally pissed. I don;t want to hear any excuses, and I don't want to hear any lies. It's 8:30, and I'm wet, tired, and hungry. What I want you to do is this: think of a very clever way to make me happy, and do it by tomorrow morning when I come to get my car. Goodbye.

And I go home. And I eat. And I sleep. And presumably the NTB staff is thinking of things that will quell my anger, and eating and sleeping. The next day, I go to pick up my car, and this is what they've come up with: three free oil changes. Otherwise known as "diddley squat." Now, three oil changes is worth a bit, so that's not so bad .. supposing that I was willing to give them my car again. I'm not, though. Not ever. I point that out, but my negotiatory shot over their bow goes over the heads. I argue that the labor should be deducted, anything ... but it goes nowhere. In the end, I leave. I am dissatisfied and left with the nagging feeling that I must have done some cosmic injustice to deserve this.

"On Golden Pond" meets "Poop Ship Destroyer"

knappy

on June 16, 2008 3:32 PM | Permalink | Comments (0) | TrackBacks (0)

An alternate title to this post could be "Why not to leave for a weekend sailing trip on Friday the 13th" ... if you're the superstitious type.

The weekend began on Friday the 13th, as we raced out of the house to meet my in-laws at the dock in Falmouth, Maine. As co-owners of a nice 30-something-foot sailing vessel, they sail every other weekend out of Falmouth. My father in law has been sailing his whole life, and is an excellent sailor - a fact that was proven out of necessity on this particular trip. So many things went wrong on a small scale that it actually did become funny. Once the bruises heal completely, we'll all laugh at this, I'm certain of that.

The highlights of the trip include:

my beautiful wife's double-handful of fiberglass splinters, courtesy of a mooring flag
my single-handful of said splinters, as I tried to help her
undercooked eggs for breakfast on father's day
seventy-five instances of bumping my own head against the ceiling in the aft bunk
some rain
a flat tire

Other than those small mishaps (all of which were easily remedied) the weekend was perfect: nice weather all day Saturday, good conversation, good food, and excellent ice cream at the Booth Bay Ice Cream Factory. Looking back, there was much more good to the weekend than bad. Honestly.

Now that we've gotten that out of the way, here are the two biggies, omitted from the above list for dramatic purposes. You can read on at this point, or simply watch "On Golden Pond" while listening to the song "Poop Ship Destroyer" by Ween. This is what happened:

Coming into Booth Bay harbor, the sun is shining, and all is well. It is a beautiful day. I am sitting at the rear of the cockpit, watching the depth gauge (not really watching, just kind of zoned out and staring in its general direction). My wife is to my right, and my Mother-in-law is at the helm. My Father-in-law, the only one of us with any sailing experience, is standing at the front of the cockpit, facing backwards, reading from the nav charts to his wife. I want to preface the following by saying that no one was doing anything wrong in any way. In fact, as we were approaching the red buoy, which was to our right, Dad--in-law was reciting the "Red Right Returning" rule (which I love, as a fan of alliteration). Ever sailor knows that rule, even me, and I've only been a boat three times in my whole life. I'm hearing all of this, but not really paying attention. The sun is out, and its so nice, and the gauge reads 38 feet. ... 30 feet. ... 25 ... 18 ...

I snap out of it just in time to yell "ten feet!" as the gauge dives to '10', and then the following happened all at once:

My wife dives towards the engine shut-off
My Mom-in-law reaches for the throttle to stop the boat
There is a loud crash
Forward mobility stops abruptly: 4 knots to zero in under a second.

At this point, my father-in-law goes ass-over-tea-kettle backwards down into the hold. My wife successfully dives to her knees, although much faster than she intended, and shuts off the engine. Somehow I get a charlie horse on my right calf (still not sure how that happened). Seconds later, we're all converging to see if my Dad-in-law is still alive. It's quite a drop down there, with strategically placed things like counter-tops to break one's fall "skull-cracking" style. Like some super-hero, he comes bounding back up almost as fast as he went down, and ignoring pleas of "are you all right?" he takes charge and gets everyone moving to free the boat. The "respect-o-meter" went up a notch or two at that moment. His arm was clearly broken, his hand was cut and bruised, and who knows what else was broken, sprained, or otherwise hurt. He was in the dinghy faster than Flash Gordon, and I was hoisting out the anchor. He sped back to deep water, dropped the anchor, and we winched ourselves back off of the rock. This was an amazing reaction: fast and clear thinking amidst what could have been a disaster. As it turns out, the arm was not broken (though very bruised), and the boat did not sink. The speedometer stopped working, but was okay after a reboot. There was no sign of serious damage at all. My wife barked up her knees good, and my calf had that inexplicable bump, but all said and done, we we're very lucky. (note: for the sailors out there, there is a red buoy near Booth Bay that you should keep on your left while returning. The various vessels that came out to help us all claim to have run aground there at some point themselves, so I feel I should point it out).

We celebrated our survival, and helped to calm adrenaline-aggravated nerves, by eating a large dinner of steak tips, shrimp, grilled cheese sandwiches, and hot soup. There was some rum, too, but not excessive amounts. We unwound, finished the feast with Chocloate-Lover's Ice Cream from the Booth Bay Ice Cream Factory (which I recommend!), and then went to bed. Of course, with all that food and drink, there were many trips to the head before saying good-night, and a few trips in the wee-hours of the evening as well. The worst was behind us.

... In fact, the worst was literally behind us. It was in our dinghy, which was tied up to the port side, just under the overflow jets for the head unit. And the head unit was full. All night, as we did out feast-induced business, we were pumping poop into the dinghy.

I woke up blessed: as a writer, I am now able to honestly use the words "poop" and "dinghy" in the same sentence. Our sore-armed captain ended up being the foreman in a sewage removal exercise early on Sunday morning. That was Father's Day, by the way. Happy Poop-Dinghy Father's Day!

So, a weekend sail turned out okay - major death and disaster was avoided, and we were lucky enough to have a weekend that we will always look back upon with a grin and a giggle.

Off to La-La-Land

knappy

on May 28, 2008 10:28 AM | Permalink | Comments (0) | TrackBacks (0)

This is the shortest post ever. I'm off to LA for a business trip and also for the Book Expo America. It's not even 5:30 am yet.

UNH Graduation - Summa Cum huh?

knappy

on May 25, 2008 3:24 AM | Permalink | Comments (0) | TrackBacks (0)

I attended the graduation ceremonies for UNH today, to see good friend SS throw the cap in the air. After working hard to get through her degree in the face of adversity, she still graduated with honors. Now, I skipped my own graduation ceremony, because by the time I graduated I was so fed up with "the system" that I couldn't bear to sit through a few more stuffy hours of it. If I'd paid attention, I would have realized that I graduated with honors, too. No kiddin' ... a 3.9 GPA and I was too stupid to realize that meant something. So I guess I graduated Summa Cum Huh? Time to update those resumes!

Anyway, the day was perfect, and though it was impossible to actually see SS as she got her degree (either in person or on the big simulcast screen), we were able to snap a few shots afterwords.. I'll update this to add some pics as soon as I'm less tired.

What's in a Brand?

knappy

on May 15, 2008 2:57 PM | Permalink | Comments (0) | TrackBacks (0)

I found this massively entertaining web experiment on the Word of Mouth blog. Take a minute to check this out. Or, if you're like me, take about two hours to check it out.

Feel free to enter "zombie chickens" for "NPR" ... maybe the cosmic psychology of this experiment will leak over to NPR and they'll do a story on Cluck?

Bloggers Unite for Human Rights: Don't be a Shit

knappy

on May 15, 2008 1:31 PM | Permalink | Comments (0) | TrackBacks (0)

It's May 15th, when Bloggers Unite for Human Rights. I had a difficult time deciding what to write about in support of human rights, because there's an awful lot to be fighting for right now. In our "civilized" nation, we're stealing our own constitutional rights on such a regular basis that it's scary. There's Myanmar: a country in need of aid, but the aid is being repressed by the government. There's atrocities in the middle east, where there are so many gun-toting factions fighting for what they think is right (including the US) that it's hard to keep track. The world is falling into a state that depressingly resembles a game of World of Warcraft than any sane person's ideal for society: we fight among ourselves in each other for personal advancement and profit, with no clear goal or purpose other than self gratification.

So instead, I'm going back to a universal rule that will help every situation at once. It's a rule that I first discovered while attempting to maintain order in a very small college apartment with two other guys who were as irresponsible as I was. We had a list of rules, in fact, including when to clean the toilet and such, but it's rule #7 that's stuck with me because it trumped all other rules and maintained order in an apartment of chaos:

Rule #7: Don't be a Shit

It's profoundly good advice. To the government of Myanmar, I say "don't be a Shit." Give your people aid, and accept help no what political light you fear that might cast you in. Anything else is just shitty. To the profit-mongering oil companies who are driving old ladies from the homes they grew up in because they can't afford heat, I say "don't be a shit." To the torturers of war, whichever side they might be on, I say "stop being shits," and to the terrorists who started the whole thing -- who I'm sure think they have good reasons for blowing people up -- I say, "you know, if you just step back and look what you're doing, it's pretty shitty. STOP IT!"

Not everyone is being a shit, of course: there are decent groups out there. My favorite is http://www.doctorswithoutborders.org but there are many others. If we all do our part, and if we all stop acting like a-holes, the world will be a better place.

</soapbox>

Too much F'ing Snow

knappy

on March 1, 2008 1:23 PM | Permalink

I've spent every waking moment doing one of the following things: commuting through crappy weather; working; some requisite hours of eating/sleeping; clearing snow. There is so much goddamn snow (and, living on a farm, so much of it that I have to move) that I literally spent over six hours clearing snow this weekend. The path out to the chicken coop is like a trench, and I feel more than a little bit like Red 5 when I walk out there.

Sick as a sick thing

knappy

on February 3, 2008 2:01 AM | Permalink

I'm sick .. again. This is either the third cold I've had within five weeks, or I've had one long cold that seems to get better, but is really just taking a rest every so often. I'm getting very sick of being sick. I feel like crap. I want to care about things like drooling boogers again: right now, I'm numb to it. "Um, excuse me, did you know that you just hacked up something yellowish, and it's dribbling down your chin?" Who, me? Couldn't care less. Why wipe it up, it's already invited all its friends over and they'll be here any minute. Yup, here they are know, squirting out of my nose. And my eye. Have you ever blown your nose and had boogers shoot out of your eye??? I tell you it's not fair. I want to go to sleep and wake up healthy. In the summer. Or in the Bahamas.

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