Elon Musk Must Love French Fries!

It is common knowledge that "necessity is the mother of invention".  Most of the things that we use on a daily basis are a direct function of someone who was frustrated enough to create a better way of doing it.

Think of the potato peeler.

Years and years of peeling with a dull knife.  In fact, (not really, but hey, this is the Internet so go with it) Wounded Knee was named after that unfortunate soul whose sole purpose was to prepare the potatoes for the nightly meal.  It wasn't until Thomas Williams invented the peeler in the 1800's (that actually is true) that fingers and knees were finally free from the "tyranny of the tuber"!

I would like to address a more modern problem, or perhaps appropriately, a "first world" problem.  It is an issue, and you see it every time you get behind the wheel of a vehicle.

I am talking about the serious problem of DWE.

Yes.  DWE or Driving While Eating is a serious problem in these United States.  I am embarrassed to admit that I am guilty of a DWE on a regular basis.

In fact, just today while making an "essential" run for Ag supplies and tools, I decided to stop for some lunch to eat on the way home.  There were at least a half-dozen options if not more and when I turned into the El Pollo Loco line I noticed it was way too long, same for Taco Bell, In-n-Out Burger, and KFC.  So I finally picked, Del Taco because it only had one other car in line and the "path of least resistance" is my motto for meals that I really don't care about.

I ordered some combo meal, mostly for the Diet Coke, but got a burrito, soft taco, and french fries.  [Can I digress here for just a moment and question why or better yet who decided that french fries was an appropriate side for tacos and burritos?] There was the obligatory, "...want any sauces today?" at the pickup window. Well, of course, YES! "...extra spicy please!", because if you ain't sweating it ain't good!

I merged onto Highway 4 Eastbound for home, reached into the bag, and pulled out a nice warm burrito, peeled back the paper and then looked at the bone-dry top of the burrito with the disdain worthy of that crazy TV chef that yells at everyone.

This burrito desperately needed hot sauce!  I reached over and grabbed one of the hot sauce packets and (by now, your own personal experiences are whirling around in your head) engaged in the DWE maneuver of holding an open burrito in one hand, ripping open the sauce with your teeth and other hand and steering the car with your elbow and knees.  There are two basic non-fatal outcomes to this DWE move.  The first is that you did not quite tear enough of an opening in the packet which forces you to apply additional pressure to your packet squeeze which in turn sends a jet-stream of hot sauce that barely skims the top of the burrito and hits you square in the chest.  The second outcome is too much of a tear and the majority of the sauce ends up on your chest and again, very little on the burrito.

I experienced both outcomes in reverse order of my description above.

I decided that the french fries were a safer choice since I was doing a little DWE weave on State Route 4.

So I did what all guys do when they eat fries, I grabbed several (at least 4) to nom on.  It is an inevitability that the gods that rule the space between the driver's seat and the console will demand their sacrifice and, sure enough, one of those 4 fries took that unselfish leap from my hand into the deep dark cushion crevasse and to the place where no vacuum has yet seen.  It is there that it will dwell with the 2 quarters, 3 dimes, 1 nickel, and 6 pennies along with assorted tic tacs, straw wrappers, and at least one piece of whatever was in a package I attempted to open while sitting in the car.

After arriving home and changing shirts, I began to ponder about my experience and to determine which are the worst and best foods to DWE.

Worst:  Obviously anything with a fork, spoon, or any utensil for that matter.  Crunchy tacos, because well, you know.  Subway sandwiches (especially if you order everything on it), Fried Chicken (tried that several times in Sparks, Nevada as I headed to Utah and you need 16 wet wipes to clean your steering wheel).  Cinnabon's for the same reason.  Onion rings, but only after the 1st bite because the first bite is perfect and you have created the crusty "C" shape, but the subsequent bites never are clean enough which results in the separation of the onion from its crusty outer goodness and either one or the other or both will end up in your lap.  In-N-Out Burger, they even fake you out with their, "Will you be eating in your car?" tease.  You already know what happens to fries and their fries especially cannot be picked up one at a time...and their burgers...unless you inhale them, will be dripping down your shirt by the time you have driven 3.6 miles.

Best:  McDonalds.  Anything on their menu has the uncanny ability to stay in its proper state during your DWE operation.  Only problem is that it's McDonalds.  AND...if you chance upon a stray McD's french fry on the floorboard that is within reach you will be tempted to eat it because it will look as good as the day you bought it.

With these DWE issues that we have all collectively faced I am subscribing to an apocryphal story (again, totally made it up) that Elon Musk one day was driving in his Ford Taurus and was eating his favorite fast food french fries, dropped one and then had his engineering epiphany or his "mother of invention" experience.

And THAT is why we now have self-driving cars.

Final Destination and the Karma of Smugness..

    After a nearly 40 minute delay leaving Gatwick the 10+ hour flight was passed watching 4 movies, 2 episodes of Modern Family, 2 meals, and no sleep (I have never been able to sleep on planes and am especially irritated and jealous when I get up to use the lavatory and see all those slumbering people in the low-lit cabin).

    We landed in Oakland around 4:35pm PST and after some immigration delay (is the plane considered an immigrant?) the plane was allowed to finally disembark. Then the "dash" to the customs lines began. But fortunately, last year we purchased the "Global Entry" pass that gives you TSA Pre-check AND Customs Clearance by just scanning your passport and sticking your digits on a screen at a kiosk. It was marvelous!

    We cleared customs faster than it took to disembark! It was hard not to cast a smug glance at the long line of tired travelers in the customs queue similar to the ones given by those who have a Disneyland FastPass while others are stuck in the 90 minute line for the Indiana Jones ride. But, unfortunately, I did...(which set the wheels of Karma rolling) as we walked to a baggage carousel that looked like a prone mechanical monster spitting out suitcases from it's gaping mouth in un-digested chunks. I camped at a spot near its mouth only to see Margo waving and holding up 2 fingers indicating she had already hauled our two bags off the carousel and luck-upon-more-luck, we were gonna be like the first people outta there! 
    AJ was waiting right in front of the terminal and we were off to a long anticipated date with our own comfortable bed. We battled commute traffic and it took well over an hour and a half to get home, AJ, noticing our fatigue, carried our bags upstairs and placed them by our bed. Margo did a little un-packing and I longingly looked at my bed anticipating, with giddy excitement, the slumber that awaited...I put my suitcase on the bed to unpack some PJ's when aghast, I noticed...

THIS WAS NOT MY FRICKIN' SUITCASE!

    A moment of disbelief and paralysis was followed by the obvious and terrible realization that a trek BACK to the airport was inevitable, because, not only did I want MY bag back, but also, I am now worried that some poor soul thinks that a "Bloody Yank" has pinched his suitcase. So, AJ dutifully, and amazingly non-reluctantly, drove me all the way back to the airport to exchange the suitcase that looked exactly like mine (the suitcase was right next to Margo's bag when it was on the carousel so it was an easy mistake to make). The thought occurred to leave an apology note and a few quid inside the bag of the wrong luggage but I figured it would exacerbate the distress to the other party to think that not only had someone taken their luggage, but also, had rifled through it!  

     We finally made it home after a personal-best record 2-hour round trip from Brentwood to Oakland (I didn't even complain about AJ's speeding) and ultimately realized the comfort that is only found in one's own bed. I dreamed of roundabouts all night and awoke refreshed the next morning with the realization that Karma, that fickle cosmic force, can strike even when you simply "think" about feeling a little superior.

Alas, another life lesson.

Note: I originally posted this in November 2017 on Facebook but never archived it in my blog.

I Am Mildly Annoyed...

...and no one cares because they have their own problems!

     With our County and now the State "Shelter-in-place" order entering into its (what day into this are we anyways?) something-ish day I find myself...mildly annoyed.

     This feeling is beyond the situational annoyances cause by supply-hoarders or the inconveniences caused by the shut down of virtually everything.

     It is more existential...

     Perhaps its age or perhaps its...well, no...it's age.

    We recently purchased 8 little chicks from the Tractor Supply Company.  TSC has everything you need for both the neophyte and experienced chicken owner including a nice little chicken coop on display for just under $300.00.  The coop decked in red and white looked like an All-American barn, I turned to Margo and said,

     "I can build it cheaper than that!", and once again, I sent the Karma bowling ball to rollin' down the alley of comeuppance!  I'm approaching an embarrassing financial multiple of the budget friendly TSC coop.  A mild annoyance.

     There is an adage in construction: "Measure twice, cut once!"

      During this particular construction project it's been more like, "Measure 5 times (because I forgot the measurement by the time I got to the chop saw) and cut 3 times, because of course, I STILL measured wrong.  Or when you are making angle cuts for both ends of a board and you inadvertently cut the angle the opposite of what it should be...there is no coming back from that mistake, you need another 2 by 4.  Again, a mild annoyance.

     Margo is probably the most charitable, kind, sympathetic, compassionate individual I know except when it comes to when I am sick, those characteristics vanish.  At the loss of anyone, even if they weren't close friends, it's tears and sympathy.  Upon my demise, she'll just be mildly annoyed.

   I had always found this lack of emotion a little disconcerting until today, while Margo was being  "Margo" (those who know her well, know what that means) she was working at her WFH spot on the kitchen table and in between conference calls, ZOOM, and other technical feats she found the time to bake some wonderful bread.  The other day it was home-made hamburger buns, yesterday it was delicious French Bread, today was an awesome whole-wheat loaf. 

    Margo ends up giving most of it away to friends and neighbors and today she decided to take a warm, new loaf of wheat bread to one of our friends.  As she exited from the car she caught her foot on the strap of her purse and painfully plowed into the pavement.

     Meanwhile, I am working on some detailed part of the coop's sliding nesting drawer feature when AJ runs out and yells, "DAD...Emergency!"

     I drop what I'm doing and see Margo's pinkie finger sideways and bleeding and think it's a compound fracture and along with the huge knot on her kneecap.  Then this strange emotion comes over me...I am mildly annoyed!

    I am annoyed that I had to stop working.  I am annoyed that I have to drive her to Kaiser emergency given the current environment.  I am annoyed that I forgot where I put my new N-95 masks.  I am annoyed because I haven't eaten all day.  I am annoyed that all my tools are sitting outside and I haven't time to put them away.

     While we were on the 40-minute hold time for Kaiser,  I called a friend of ours from our church congregation who is a doctor and who also works at Kaiser to ask his advice on if we should go in or not.  He quickly drove over to our house, evaluated the injury, and made a call to his co-workers in the Minor Injury Clinic drove over to the hospital and got Margo in right away.  AJ insisted on accompanying Margo to spare me the risk of any viral exposure.  It turned out to be a dislocation, painful, but at least no surgery required.  Less than an hour and a half later Margo was home.

I am still annoyed however...

I am annoyed that I am not more grateful.  I am annoyed with myself for failing to be thankful.  I am annoyed that I take many things for granted.  I am annoyed that I don't recognize God's hand in my life more often.  I am annoyed for not appreciating the great companion I have.

I guess I am annoyed at being...mildly annoyed...

   

On Constellations and Consonants

Several years ago, while Britton was earning his PhD in Aeronautical and Astronautical Engineering at Stanford, we were invited to attend the defense of his Dissertation.

The panel that was assembled to pose questions to him consisted of a group of world-renowned Professors, (some of which were Nobel candidates), Engineers, and Department Heads.  It was an impressive gathering of experienced, brilliant, and talented minds.

In addition to the panel, many of Brit's fellow doctoral candidates and graduate students were in attendance bringing the room total to roughly 40 plus people.

I sat there, in the back, and soon became fully aware that I was literally, quantitatively, and by any other method of measurement, the dumbest person in the room.

I was the statistical outlier.

I was the IQ curve buster.

More on this later...

One of my main purposes for being there however,  besides being the father of the candidate, was simple and non-academic.  It was to provide the post-meeting treats.  If there is one thing that Stanford doctoral candidates are infamous for, it is their inability to provide a decent spread!  Britton recognized this systemic flaw and, in a vain attempt to "pad" his attendance numbers, promised those who came that it would NOT be the normal "cookies and juice" after-meeting refreshments but instead to expect a delicious, and delightful, post-defense dessert.

We delivered.  Rave reviews by the geniuses were plentifully doled out for our efforts and Britton was proud to be the candidate that "raised the bar" for any future post-grad grub.

Later, during an after-party gathering at his next door neighbor and best friend's place (who by the way, has gone on to be CNN's go-to expert on the Federal Reserve) I found myself engaged in conversation with a young man who was a fellow doctoral candidate.

"What is your field of study?", I asked him.

"Cosmology.", was his short, "Sheldon like", response.

My mind began to scramble (like most do when you are engaged in conversation with people who will only provide you with one-word answers) for ways to make this interaction more interesting by feigning interest with probing and intelligent questions, so I queried,

"So, are your hopes after graduation to work for a large company?" I asked.

Then...here it comes...what I referenced above...

"...like Max Factor or Ralph Loren?" Figuring, they must need some scientists for their secret formula's.

Then, above the din of multiple conversations and from completely across the room, Britton, who saw this car crash coming, yells out...

"It's Cosmology, Dad...NOT Cosmetology!"

Dang consonant...

I AM the outlier.

Elihu was right...

Near the end of the Old Testament Book of Job we are introduced to a character named, Elihu, who, had he lived in our time, would probably be a "Millennial" if not simply for his utter lack of respect toward his "Baby Boomer" elders, Job and his three friends.

He starts off with, "I am young, and ye are very old...great men are not always wise; neither do the aged understand judgment..."  In other words, Elihu is saying, just because you're old doesn't make you smart.

I proved that theory to be true on Monday.

Margo and I, along with our friends Carl & Celia (Gen X), and Dick & Donna (fellow BBer's) decided it would be a great adventure to camp on Santa Cruz Island, which is one of the 8 Islands that comprise the Channel Islands off the coast of Ventura in Southern California.  A ferry takes you on a 1-hour plus ride and dumps you off at the dock where you take all your camping gear and hike to your campsite.  There are no amenities, no cell service, no comforts.  You are on an island with water and a port-a-potty.

Some of the attractions of this island is the great hiking trails, beautiful vistas of the Pacific Ocean, snorkeling in clear (cold) waters, and sea kayaking through some of the most awesome sea caves in California.  We brought 2 sea kayaks, wet suits, snorkeling gear, and other equipment to take advantage of this great venue.

We had a wonderful time for the first 3 days there on the island doing all the activities I described above and on Monday, our last day, we broke camp, hauled our stuff down to the pier, set up our chairs and leisurely waited for our boat to pick us up at 4:00pm.

Our "Elihu moment" came when Margo and I decided that there was plenty of time for one last kayak trip through the sea caves.

I opted not to wear a wet suit and just put on some water shoes and shorts as we headed off to the cave that we had nick-named the "Elephant Cave" because of its remarkable resemblance to an elephant's profile.

The sea was really rough from the strong winds but we battled through them and made it to the caves.  The trick to getting through this tunnel cave is to pick the time when the current is going through the cave in the same direction you are heading and to get through before the current reverses when it comes back through from the other side. There is a rock in the middle of your path and you need to stay to the left side going in and the right side if you are heading back the opposite direction.

We successfully paddled with the current through the left side and came out the other side just fine.  We then decided that we would try going back the opposite way and for some inexplicable reason, instead of going to the right side we tried to navigate to the left side of the rock which is much narrower.  Just then a large swell came from the opposite direction pitching us into the rock and then capsizing us into the turbulent waters.

There was the "Oh, crap" (although in my mind, it was a much more profane word) moment followed  by sheer terror as I bobbed back up out of the water and I could not find Margo!  Seconds passed as I scanned the water for her and I began to hyperventilate from the fear that she had been swept into the rocks or an undertow.  Finally, she emerged from under the kayak, but now we are being buffeted in a current that is part eddy and part "washing machine" as the two competing currents throw you back and forth and into the sides of the cave entrance.

Margo got back on to the kayak and when I tried to get back on the waves and currents were tossing us around so much that I capsized Margo again. She was able to get back on with me holding the kayak steady as best I could considering the churning currents.  With her on the kayak, we spent the next several minutes trying to figure out how to get out of this predicament and I kept getting slammed into the rocks with their razor sharp barnacles slicing my lower legs.  It was at this juncture that I was resigned to the fact that this was a pretty tenuous situation and the odds of a positive outcome may not be in my favor.  We thought that maybe I could swim to a rock and hang on while Margo went for help, or maybe she could tow me while I held on to the bow line, but none of our "maybes" were viable options under the current conditions.

Just then, I saw about 50 yards away a snorkeler. For them to rise their head up and even look in our direction was a miracle in itself and we waved frantically. The snorkeler cheerfully waved back! (Expletive Deleted).  After a few more minutes the snorkeler had moved a little closer to almost shouting distance, came up, and after giving a more hearty, "HELP US!" wave, finally swam over toward us.

She was an experienced diver who had such a calming and relaxing demeanor that the fear I was feeling began to disappear,  With her long fins treading she was able to stabilize the kayak long enough for me to "seal flop" onto the boat, find our oar spinning in the eddy, and paddle back to the safety of the beach and our friends who were wondering why we were taking so long.

The first thing Margo said as we were safely paddling back was, "Our kids would be soooo ticked off if we had died doing this!", we laughed as we thought about how our funerals would be full of comments like "...what were they thinking?" and "...they were too old to be doing that!".  Second guessing would be the main topic of conversation at our viewings.

We survived, however, thanks to our snorkeling savior.  One can even see this as a metaphor...of how the Savior, Jesus Christ, can, as the hymn goes, "calm my troubled heart" by preserving us physically, and, more importantly, save us spiritually as well.

Safely ashore, my legs were bleeding bright red from dozens [Editor post-script: I've counted 52] of cuts, slices, and scrapes and, after using every available band aid, Celia lent me her "cool" socks to cover the wounds.  It was an interesting look for a man, well into his 60's, with shorts and knee-high women's socks.  We rewarded our return to the mainland with a trip to In & Out Burger and I unabashedly strode into the restaurant still dressed in this fashionable attire. However, I absolutely felt no shame because I have aged to the point of eccentricity.

And, Elihu, that frickin' Millennial, was correct in my case...