First off… Don’t change anything!! This has been an excellent course and I’m happy I got to take it with you. You somehow managed to open my mind to a world of English I never experienced back in high school. My memories of English were the dreaded ‘Read to Kill a Mockingbird’ or ‘A Tale of Two Cities’ and write a massive book report. I never was able to write what I wanted to and this course changed all that. As I said before, don’t change, adjust or rearrange anything…its great just the way it is.
Looking back at all the stuff I’ve written, the one that I like the most was the last one. It was supposed to be a comparison but it wasn’t, it just came out--like a voice in the back of my mind came through telling me what to write faster than I could type it. Thanks for opening that doorway, even though I had fun with every assignment. I actually gained a lot of good information out of the Isearch too. I will be using what I learned in the upcoming months when it comes time to get down and dirty with the basement.
Thanks again for the great course. =D
Tuesday, December 9, 2008
Sunday, December 7, 2008
Comparison Essay
Just like the rest of us, both of my kids were born. I know it sounds stupid but when you think about it that’s the first thing we all do in life. The pregnancies and births can be very different from mother to mother and even more so from child to child as my wife and I found out. My wife was eighteen when our first child was born and twenty-four with the second. Also both children were born in separate hospitals, one was born sick and the other was beyond healthy. It’s strange that two boys from the same parents can come into the world so differently and start life completely opposite.
When the day finally came that my oldest son, Seth, came into the world, I didn’t have a clue what was going on. We lived in Bangor at the time and my wife had been receiving all of her pre-natal care through EMMC. We lived across town over near the airport but fortunately most of our appointments took place at the Healthcare Mall right on Union Street just a minute or two away. The night before he was born my wife had complained of back pain but didn’t think it was anything more than the joys of being pregnant. She tossed and turned all that night still not thinking anything was wrong. I got up in the morning and started getting ready for work. I asked her if I could do anything for her and got the same old joys of pregnancy routine. While I was killing time playing video games before I had to leave her mother comes screaming into the driveway, practically tears the door off the hinges getting in, and starts yelling, “WHERE IS SHE!?!” over and over. I had no idea what was going on until my wife comes waddling down the hall carrying her bag for the hospital. As I soon found out she was in labor and thought her water had broken, she had called her mother at work about it and had never said anything to me! Off to the hospital we went and after about thirty minutes I was a new dad. Now with our second son, Ryan, things were a little different. We lived out in Garland, a small town due south from Dover-Foxcroft. This time around all the pre-natal care had been done at Mayo hospital in Dover. It was a much more relaxed setting than EMMC with the exception of my wife’s crazy, scare tactic using doctor. Her doctor was concerned that the baby might be small and that there might not be enough fluid for him. She had my poor wife hooked up for non-stress tests at least once a week for about two to three hours per session. Finally during one of these appointments her doctor decided to induce labor. So began what would turn out to be a fifteen hour long labor all the while still hooked up to the stress/contraction monitor. The sound of the baby’s heartbeat thumping away in the background, it took days to stop hearing it after all was said and done.
The moment of truth was very different between the boys as well. My mother in law literally grabbed us and threw us in her car and tore off across town toward EMMC. I was no stranger to crazy driving but that lady scared the shit right out of me. Speeding through downtown Bangor, running red lights, and darting in and out of traffic I remember thinking as I held on for dear life, “What good is racing to the hospital if we’re all dead before we get there?” I kept my mouth shut though; I didn’t want to distract her while she was ‘In the Zone’. We sped up to the front doors and the car came to grinding halt, she jumps out and sprints to the doors yelling something like, “Lady having baby, need wheel chair!!” The funny thing was how calm everyone else seemed, myself and my wife included. When we finally made it to the delivery room there must have been fifteen people all crammed in practically shoulder to shoulder. Nurses and Practitioners all yelling at each other, other people yelling down the hall, it all faded into a mumbled static to me. I just stood there, dazed by what was happening and getting my hand squeezed in my wife’s vice like grip. As the words “PUSH” started coming through the static and my knuckles started popping under the pressure. In no time at all it stopped, there he was new to the world around him but the nurses quickly whisked him away, something was wrong. Fast forward six years and my wife is in labor again at Mayo this time. We had been in a delivery room for the last twelve hours waiting for things to ‘get moving’. Nothing to eat for my wife except green jell-o and ginger ale, she was not happy. When her water broke things got hard, three intense hours of pushing finally paid off with a loud cry. In the room this time were two nurses and a doctor, very relaxed for the situation. I got to cut the cord this time also, things were so frantic the first time that I hadn’t been able to. After Ryan was cleaned up, weighed and measured, and swaddled up in a blanket we got to hold him for a while and get to know each other. As I mentioned before that was not the case with Seth.
Back to 2001, Seth had just been hurried away by the delivery staff of EMMC. I had no idea what was going on and they were not saying anything. I was told to go home and get some things for my wife and that everything would be fine. She needed to get some much needed rest and I was told Seth was having some tests done, so off I went. When I returned with a duffle bag full of stuff a few hours later the nurses had news that was not what I had hoped to hear. It seemed Seth’s heart was not pumping the blood away fast enough and was causing congestive heart failure. A doctor that was from the Boston children’s hospital was on hand and ordered an MRI. The images shown were startling, a tennis ball sized ball of blood vessels with one massive artery dumping blood straight into his heart. This ball was where the left lobe of his liver should have been and it was killing him. A few doctors were tossing ideas back and forth on what to do and we had been told to pack bags to go to Boston. A full blown out operation to remove it was out of the question, he would never survive it. A stent to reduce the flow or treating it with steroids hoping to shrink it were the only options available. Steroids are what the doctors decided would work best and for the next eight weeks we lived out of the hospital. For the first few weeks we couldn’t even touch him, he was locked inside an incubator. As the time past he got better and better until we were released sixty-two days after his birth. That was the hardest and most stressful time I ever experienced. With Ryan we were home in less than twenty-four hours after his birth, just in time for Christmas. Five o’ clock PM on Christmas Eve to be exact, and I never went to sleep that night. I was busy preparing things for Christmas morning, helping my wife and caring for a newborn all at the same time. We had to go back to the hospital that afternoon for a blood drawing that needed to be done twenty-four hours after birth by state law. Everything with Ryan was picture perfect; he was in the top ninety percentile for all newborns. He was so big he didn’t even fit into any newborn clothes and barely fit into the newborn diapers. Very different from the first time around.
Now we are having boy number three, that’s probably why this has been on my mind lately. In just a matter of weeks we will be going through it again and hopefully it will be just like last time. I wouldn’t wish what we went through with Seth on anyone. Today Seth is an awesome kid though, does great at everything he does, especially at being a good big brother to Ryan. They love each other very much and despite their age differences spend hours a day playing with each other. The new baby and Ryan are only going to be a year apart so Seth will have his hands full, just like his mother and I.
When the day finally came that my oldest son, Seth, came into the world, I didn’t have a clue what was going on. We lived in Bangor at the time and my wife had been receiving all of her pre-natal care through EMMC. We lived across town over near the airport but fortunately most of our appointments took place at the Healthcare Mall right on Union Street just a minute or two away. The night before he was born my wife had complained of back pain but didn’t think it was anything more than the joys of being pregnant. She tossed and turned all that night still not thinking anything was wrong. I got up in the morning and started getting ready for work. I asked her if I could do anything for her and got the same old joys of pregnancy routine. While I was killing time playing video games before I had to leave her mother comes screaming into the driveway, practically tears the door off the hinges getting in, and starts yelling, “WHERE IS SHE!?!” over and over. I had no idea what was going on until my wife comes waddling down the hall carrying her bag for the hospital. As I soon found out she was in labor and thought her water had broken, she had called her mother at work about it and had never said anything to me! Off to the hospital we went and after about thirty minutes I was a new dad. Now with our second son, Ryan, things were a little different. We lived out in Garland, a small town due south from Dover-Foxcroft. This time around all the pre-natal care had been done at Mayo hospital in Dover. It was a much more relaxed setting than EMMC with the exception of my wife’s crazy, scare tactic using doctor. Her doctor was concerned that the baby might be small and that there might not be enough fluid for him. She had my poor wife hooked up for non-stress tests at least once a week for about two to three hours per session. Finally during one of these appointments her doctor decided to induce labor. So began what would turn out to be a fifteen hour long labor all the while still hooked up to the stress/contraction monitor. The sound of the baby’s heartbeat thumping away in the background, it took days to stop hearing it after all was said and done.
The moment of truth was very different between the boys as well. My mother in law literally grabbed us and threw us in her car and tore off across town toward EMMC. I was no stranger to crazy driving but that lady scared the shit right out of me. Speeding through downtown Bangor, running red lights, and darting in and out of traffic I remember thinking as I held on for dear life, “What good is racing to the hospital if we’re all dead before we get there?” I kept my mouth shut though; I didn’t want to distract her while she was ‘In the Zone’. We sped up to the front doors and the car came to grinding halt, she jumps out and sprints to the doors yelling something like, “Lady having baby, need wheel chair!!” The funny thing was how calm everyone else seemed, myself and my wife included. When we finally made it to the delivery room there must have been fifteen people all crammed in practically shoulder to shoulder. Nurses and Practitioners all yelling at each other, other people yelling down the hall, it all faded into a mumbled static to me. I just stood there, dazed by what was happening and getting my hand squeezed in my wife’s vice like grip. As the words “PUSH” started coming through the static and my knuckles started popping under the pressure. In no time at all it stopped, there he was new to the world around him but the nurses quickly whisked him away, something was wrong. Fast forward six years and my wife is in labor again at Mayo this time. We had been in a delivery room for the last twelve hours waiting for things to ‘get moving’. Nothing to eat for my wife except green jell-o and ginger ale, she was not happy. When her water broke things got hard, three intense hours of pushing finally paid off with a loud cry. In the room this time were two nurses and a doctor, very relaxed for the situation. I got to cut the cord this time also, things were so frantic the first time that I hadn’t been able to. After Ryan was cleaned up, weighed and measured, and swaddled up in a blanket we got to hold him for a while and get to know each other. As I mentioned before that was not the case with Seth.
Back to 2001, Seth had just been hurried away by the delivery staff of EMMC. I had no idea what was going on and they were not saying anything. I was told to go home and get some things for my wife and that everything would be fine. She needed to get some much needed rest and I was told Seth was having some tests done, so off I went. When I returned with a duffle bag full of stuff a few hours later the nurses had news that was not what I had hoped to hear. It seemed Seth’s heart was not pumping the blood away fast enough and was causing congestive heart failure. A doctor that was from the Boston children’s hospital was on hand and ordered an MRI. The images shown were startling, a tennis ball sized ball of blood vessels with one massive artery dumping blood straight into his heart. This ball was where the left lobe of his liver should have been and it was killing him. A few doctors were tossing ideas back and forth on what to do and we had been told to pack bags to go to Boston. A full blown out operation to remove it was out of the question, he would never survive it. A stent to reduce the flow or treating it with steroids hoping to shrink it were the only options available. Steroids are what the doctors decided would work best and for the next eight weeks we lived out of the hospital. For the first few weeks we couldn’t even touch him, he was locked inside an incubator. As the time past he got better and better until we were released sixty-two days after his birth. That was the hardest and most stressful time I ever experienced. With Ryan we were home in less than twenty-four hours after his birth, just in time for Christmas. Five o’ clock PM on Christmas Eve to be exact, and I never went to sleep that night. I was busy preparing things for Christmas morning, helping my wife and caring for a newborn all at the same time. We had to go back to the hospital that afternoon for a blood drawing that needed to be done twenty-four hours after birth by state law. Everything with Ryan was picture perfect; he was in the top ninety percentile for all newborns. He was so big he didn’t even fit into any newborn clothes and barely fit into the newborn diapers. Very different from the first time around.
Now we are having boy number three, that’s probably why this has been on my mind lately. In just a matter of weeks we will be going through it again and hopefully it will be just like last time. I wouldn’t wish what we went through with Seth on anyone. Today Seth is an awesome kid though, does great at everything he does, especially at being a good big brother to Ryan. They love each other very much and despite their age differences spend hours a day playing with each other. The new baby and Ryan are only going to be a year apart so Seth will have his hands full, just like his mother and I.
Wednesday, December 3, 2008
Practice Final
If existence is a buffet and my plate was my life, I’d say I may have tasted some things that were hard to swallow. Unfortunately life is not a buffet, you can’t ignore that not so tasty item that you selected, you just have to eat it. Somewhere between age eight and ten seems to be hot spot for accepting reality. It may be the realization that all those myths and fairy tales aren’t true or that death means there is no coming back. As we progress into the teen years small tastes of what is yet to come become clearer and clearer. It takes money to get most things accomplished and there is no way you can survive on birthday and Christmas card cash alone. As a teen most of that doesn’t matter anyway, after all you are invincible. When that gloomy day arrives and you figure out you’re an adult, some people say, “My God!, I’ve turned into my parents!” That can be a harsh wakeup call when you utter those words to yourself. Life’s hard truths can be a process to get through but unless the invisible blindfold is removed it cannot be accepted for what it is.
I found out that Santa was an imaginary being implanted into my mind by my parents at age eight. I had secretly set my alarm clock to go off at 4 A.M. Christmas morning and had hid it under my blanket next to me in bed. When it went off I shut it off quickly to prevent my parents from hearing it, I then put it back in its usual place and proceeded to creep down the hall to our living room. There under our tree were the same presents that had been there the night before, no new presents had been placed there by the jolly fat man. My mind raced with the thoughts of ‘the older kids at school were right. Maybe he isn’t real.’ Or was he real and I had been bad? I snuck away back to my room and sulked thinking of all those great presents I asked for and would not be getting. About a half an hour latter I heard a few thumps and bumps coming from down the hall. I got out of bed as I had earlier and proceeded down the hall in a covert manner. As I poked my head out into the living room I saw my mother back to wheeling a new bike into place beside the tree. Without thinking I announced myself with a loud, “What are you doing?” My mother jumped about three feet into the air and her face dropped to the floor. “Uh, Uh… What are you doing up?” she questioned. “I knew it was all a lie” I said. There was a long pause between us until she finally broke the silence “Well I guess I don’t have to get up early and do this anymore huh.” It wasn’t as crushing as I thought it would be after all, the whole thing didn’t seem possible anyway. “No mom, you don’t have to pretend anymore, I know all that stuff is make-believe”. Her abrupt response seemed a little harsh but we had been dealing with the death of her father just a few weeks before. Christmas without Gramp was something that none of us wanted to face, and it had been hard on both of us. Just like finding out Santa was a myth, his death stole the joy out of Christmas that year.
As I grew older I wanted things that came with a higher price tag and bumming money off my parents didn’t go very far. Cash from birthday cards and Christmas seemed to amount to less and less and the higher price tags made it disappear faster and faster. “No big deal”, I said to myself, “I’ll get a job”. Not such an easy task when you’re only fourteen with no transportation. Fortunately for me my dad had retired from work and was able to give me rides to a redemption center that my cousin owned. He offered me five bucks an hour to separate and count cans and he fed me lunch for free every day too. I saved as much of my earnings as I could and after two years I had finally put away enough to buy a car and get my driver’s licenses. It just so happened that one of dad’s older cousins was selling her 84’ Pontiac Parrisenne for $2500 bucks. It was in mint condition with only 41k miles on it, it still had the original tires on it complete with three inch white walls. As I soon found out the V8 engine had plenty of power, more than enough to get me in trouble. Within three months I had earned two speeding tickets and the fines that went with them. Apparently the state didn’t like my driving very much and they took my license away for demerit point accumulation. So now I had bills to pay and no way to get to work to earn the cash necessary to pay them. I worked out a deal with my dad and he paid the fines for me, then I worked my ass off for him doing any kind of physical labor he could come up with. He taught me a good lesson though; don’t be dumb if you can’t bail yourself out.
“Get your shoes off the couch!” “Quit running in the house” “Why did you poke holes in the ceiling?” “Why are you acting like this?” “Oh my god,… all I do is nag at you…its true… no, it can’t be…I have become… one of them”. This is just a small sequence of the things that made me realize it happened. I became my father and my mother all in one person. How could this be? I’m too young to act this old, wait a minute, no I’m not. I have to act this way or else this child will be more of a wild animal than he already is. Now the people who made me this way allow you to get away with murder at their house loading you full of sugar and then sending you back home to destroy my house. This is my mother’s way of getting sweet revenge. She always said she hoped my kids would be ten times worse than me and now she is adding fuel to the fire. I can’t complain too much though, both my kids are great compared to some of the other ones out there. My seven year old does great in school and when he gets out of control he is really just being himself, a seven year old boy. Now that I’m older turning into my parents is not such a bad thing, they are both great people and if it weren’t for them who knows what I would be like. Maybe I wouldn’t be a good parent and my kids might not be good kids. I thank my folks for raising me the way did with good values in mind.
So if life is a buffet, don’t be afraid to do some taste testing. No one wants the same bland thing all the time. Life needs to be experimented with and adjusted to compensate for the hard truths we face and the lessons we learn from them. Make the most of life in the short time you’re here on this place we call earth. In the end there is only one guarantee, you’ll never get out alive.
I found out that Santa was an imaginary being implanted into my mind by my parents at age eight. I had secretly set my alarm clock to go off at 4 A.M. Christmas morning and had hid it under my blanket next to me in bed. When it went off I shut it off quickly to prevent my parents from hearing it, I then put it back in its usual place and proceeded to creep down the hall to our living room. There under our tree were the same presents that had been there the night before, no new presents had been placed there by the jolly fat man. My mind raced with the thoughts of ‘the older kids at school were right. Maybe he isn’t real.’ Or was he real and I had been bad? I snuck away back to my room and sulked thinking of all those great presents I asked for and would not be getting. About a half an hour latter I heard a few thumps and bumps coming from down the hall. I got out of bed as I had earlier and proceeded down the hall in a covert manner. As I poked my head out into the living room I saw my mother back to wheeling a new bike into place beside the tree. Without thinking I announced myself with a loud, “What are you doing?” My mother jumped about three feet into the air and her face dropped to the floor. “Uh, Uh… What are you doing up?” she questioned. “I knew it was all a lie” I said. There was a long pause between us until she finally broke the silence “Well I guess I don’t have to get up early and do this anymore huh.” It wasn’t as crushing as I thought it would be after all, the whole thing didn’t seem possible anyway. “No mom, you don’t have to pretend anymore, I know all that stuff is make-believe”. Her abrupt response seemed a little harsh but we had been dealing with the death of her father just a few weeks before. Christmas without Gramp was something that none of us wanted to face, and it had been hard on both of us. Just like finding out Santa was a myth, his death stole the joy out of Christmas that year.
As I grew older I wanted things that came with a higher price tag and bumming money off my parents didn’t go very far. Cash from birthday cards and Christmas seemed to amount to less and less and the higher price tags made it disappear faster and faster. “No big deal”, I said to myself, “I’ll get a job”. Not such an easy task when you’re only fourteen with no transportation. Fortunately for me my dad had retired from work and was able to give me rides to a redemption center that my cousin owned. He offered me five bucks an hour to separate and count cans and he fed me lunch for free every day too. I saved as much of my earnings as I could and after two years I had finally put away enough to buy a car and get my driver’s licenses. It just so happened that one of dad’s older cousins was selling her 84’ Pontiac Parrisenne for $2500 bucks. It was in mint condition with only 41k miles on it, it still had the original tires on it complete with three inch white walls. As I soon found out the V8 engine had plenty of power, more than enough to get me in trouble. Within three months I had earned two speeding tickets and the fines that went with them. Apparently the state didn’t like my driving very much and they took my license away for demerit point accumulation. So now I had bills to pay and no way to get to work to earn the cash necessary to pay them. I worked out a deal with my dad and he paid the fines for me, then I worked my ass off for him doing any kind of physical labor he could come up with. He taught me a good lesson though; don’t be dumb if you can’t bail yourself out.
“Get your shoes off the couch!” “Quit running in the house” “Why did you poke holes in the ceiling?” “Why are you acting like this?” “Oh my god,… all I do is nag at you…its true… no, it can’t be…I have become… one of them”. This is just a small sequence of the things that made me realize it happened. I became my father and my mother all in one person. How could this be? I’m too young to act this old, wait a minute, no I’m not. I have to act this way or else this child will be more of a wild animal than he already is. Now the people who made me this way allow you to get away with murder at their house loading you full of sugar and then sending you back home to destroy my house. This is my mother’s way of getting sweet revenge. She always said she hoped my kids would be ten times worse than me and now she is adding fuel to the fire. I can’t complain too much though, both my kids are great compared to some of the other ones out there. My seven year old does great in school and when he gets out of control he is really just being himself, a seven year old boy. Now that I’m older turning into my parents is not such a bad thing, they are both great people and if it weren’t for them who knows what I would be like. Maybe I wouldn’t be a good parent and my kids might not be good kids. I thank my folks for raising me the way did with good values in mind.
So if life is a buffet, don’t be afraid to do some taste testing. No one wants the same bland thing all the time. Life needs to be experimented with and adjusted to compensate for the hard truths we face and the lessons we learn from them. Make the most of life in the short time you’re here on this place we call earth. In the end there is only one guarantee, you’ll never get out alive.
Tuesday, December 2, 2008
Example Essay
My youngest son Ryan is eleven months old and somehow he managed to hit the terrible twos early in life. It’s easy to tell when he is up to no good because he gets this look in his eye. It is the look of total destruction, even his grandmother sees it, she calls it the look of the devil. As he crawls along the floor, looking back and forth you can almost hear that old Metallica song ‘Seek and Destroy’ playing in his mind. His destruction cannot be limited to only three categories but three of the most prominent are his desire to empty every drawer within his reach, no matter what the contents. His constant determination to destroy everything housed in our entertainment center, mainly the X-box. And his undying will to ‘help’ empty or fill the dishwasher, or at least cover the clean dishes with whatever greasy substance may be on his fingers.
It starts off early in the morning, just after his breakfast. A clean diaper and a full tummy is more than enough to keep him going for a least a few hours. He waits until neither my wife nor I are looking and then makes a mad dash to the Tupperware drawer, his favorite hangout. We automatically know what he’s up to by the signature sound of lids hitting the floor. As if we didn’t know what he was doing we both turn to each other and ask, “What is Ryan doing?” At that point one or both of us go to the kitchen only to find him standing at the drawer back to. The various lids come flying over his shoulders like rapid fire from a machine gun. A sudden “HEY” gets his attention rather quickly and he jumps from being startled. As he turns around a huge shit eating grin sprawls across his face followed by an expression that reads “Oh, was I doing something naughty?” He then plops down on his butt and does ‘The big hand crawl’ toward us. The ‘Big hand’ term was given because as he crawls along with every forward movement he raises his hands over his head and slaps them off the floor. It reminds me of a charging bull grinding its hoof into the ground right before the charge. He comes charging across the floor with that same grin smeared across his face until he reaches my legs and pulls himself up. When he is stable enough and sure of his footing he stairs up with an evil smile and another expression that reads,” I know I’m not supposed to be doing that but, I love you”. At that point I walk over and put the Tupperware back in the drawer. After all it is my fault; I’m the one who still hasn’t replaced the worn out child locks that he so easily snaps open.
One of his other frequent stops on the path to total destruction is our old and tired entertainment center. At his level are four main points of interest, the cabinet on the left, the matching one on the right, the satellite box, and his personal favorite the X-box. All are very intriguing to him, the cabinets are capable of killing an hour worth of time just by grabbing and pulling until there is nothing left to come out. The satellite box has a large number of buttons to push and a door for a credit card that he opens several times in a day. But the main area of focus is our old X-box, it’s not a new X-box 360, if it were I don’t think it would be within his reach. Often times when my wife and I think he is just playing in the living room we hear an odd noise. I can only describe it as a diver bouncing on a diving board before making a big splash. It’s actually Ryan after he has opened the CD drive on the X-box and is making a game out of making a disk bounce in the open CD tray. He figured out how to open the disk tray a few months ago but has only recently discovered that if he pulls down on the open tray it makes the disk bounce out of the tray. We have reminded our older boy time and time again that if he leaves a game in the X-box and does not turn the console sideways Ryan will have it broken by the time he gets home from school that day. It will only be a matter of time before he figures out how to rotate it back and get at the CD tray.
Sometime back in early September I installed a dishwasher for my wife as an anniversary present. Ryan however thinks it was a present for him. If he is on the floor and sees the dishwasher opened he crawls as fast as possible over to it and stands up bracing himself on the open door. From there he firmly grasps the bottom rack with both hands and starts shaking it back and forth making the dishes rattle and bang off one another. This is great fun for him and within the first few shakes has developed that famous ear to ear grin. Opening and closing the soap dispenser also proves to be a great time. The spring loaded door always gives him a slight jump every time it pops open even though he knows what is coming. Loading up the dirty dishes isn’t too bad, every once in a while he has to be pulled away and slid across the kitchen floor. That buys enough time to straighten out the dishes and put the bottom rack back on its track, he is so quick though that this needs to be done at least three times in one loading. If the dishes are clean it can be a different story and the ten foot walk from the dishwasher to the cabinet seems more like a mile. Pull all the plates out and stack them on the counter, move Ryan away, close the door. Go back to the counter, grab the clean plates and put them in the cabinet. Back to the dishwasher and open the door, Ryan comes running. Remove all the clean bowls and coffee cups, slide Ryan across the kitchen floor again and close the door. This process goes on until the load has been emptied and with any luck there are no baby finger prints smeared on the clean dishes.
With all the mischief he gets into there is still one looming thought in the back of my mind. He isn’t even walking yet, although he is capable of it. He paws his way around on two feet clinging to furniture and any other stable object he can get a grip on. He will also balance without assistance for a minute or more. These are telltale signs that he will be running in no time, at that point nothing will be safe. Looking toward the future, one year from now he will be almost two and will have a little brother that is his age right now. When I think about that I realize I need to get moving on replacing those worn out child locks.
It starts off early in the morning, just after his breakfast. A clean diaper and a full tummy is more than enough to keep him going for a least a few hours. He waits until neither my wife nor I are looking and then makes a mad dash to the Tupperware drawer, his favorite hangout. We automatically know what he’s up to by the signature sound of lids hitting the floor. As if we didn’t know what he was doing we both turn to each other and ask, “What is Ryan doing?” At that point one or both of us go to the kitchen only to find him standing at the drawer back to. The various lids come flying over his shoulders like rapid fire from a machine gun. A sudden “HEY” gets his attention rather quickly and he jumps from being startled. As he turns around a huge shit eating grin sprawls across his face followed by an expression that reads “Oh, was I doing something naughty?” He then plops down on his butt and does ‘The big hand crawl’ toward us. The ‘Big hand’ term was given because as he crawls along with every forward movement he raises his hands over his head and slaps them off the floor. It reminds me of a charging bull grinding its hoof into the ground right before the charge. He comes charging across the floor with that same grin smeared across his face until he reaches my legs and pulls himself up. When he is stable enough and sure of his footing he stairs up with an evil smile and another expression that reads,” I know I’m not supposed to be doing that but, I love you”. At that point I walk over and put the Tupperware back in the drawer. After all it is my fault; I’m the one who still hasn’t replaced the worn out child locks that he so easily snaps open.
One of his other frequent stops on the path to total destruction is our old and tired entertainment center. At his level are four main points of interest, the cabinet on the left, the matching one on the right, the satellite box, and his personal favorite the X-box. All are very intriguing to him, the cabinets are capable of killing an hour worth of time just by grabbing and pulling until there is nothing left to come out. The satellite box has a large number of buttons to push and a door for a credit card that he opens several times in a day. But the main area of focus is our old X-box, it’s not a new X-box 360, if it were I don’t think it would be within his reach. Often times when my wife and I think he is just playing in the living room we hear an odd noise. I can only describe it as a diver bouncing on a diving board before making a big splash. It’s actually Ryan after he has opened the CD drive on the X-box and is making a game out of making a disk bounce in the open CD tray. He figured out how to open the disk tray a few months ago but has only recently discovered that if he pulls down on the open tray it makes the disk bounce out of the tray. We have reminded our older boy time and time again that if he leaves a game in the X-box and does not turn the console sideways Ryan will have it broken by the time he gets home from school that day. It will only be a matter of time before he figures out how to rotate it back and get at the CD tray.
Sometime back in early September I installed a dishwasher for my wife as an anniversary present. Ryan however thinks it was a present for him. If he is on the floor and sees the dishwasher opened he crawls as fast as possible over to it and stands up bracing himself on the open door. From there he firmly grasps the bottom rack with both hands and starts shaking it back and forth making the dishes rattle and bang off one another. This is great fun for him and within the first few shakes has developed that famous ear to ear grin. Opening and closing the soap dispenser also proves to be a great time. The spring loaded door always gives him a slight jump every time it pops open even though he knows what is coming. Loading up the dirty dishes isn’t too bad, every once in a while he has to be pulled away and slid across the kitchen floor. That buys enough time to straighten out the dishes and put the bottom rack back on its track, he is so quick though that this needs to be done at least three times in one loading. If the dishes are clean it can be a different story and the ten foot walk from the dishwasher to the cabinet seems more like a mile. Pull all the plates out and stack them on the counter, move Ryan away, close the door. Go back to the counter, grab the clean plates and put them in the cabinet. Back to the dishwasher and open the door, Ryan comes running. Remove all the clean bowls and coffee cups, slide Ryan across the kitchen floor again and close the door. This process goes on until the load has been emptied and with any luck there are no baby finger prints smeared on the clean dishes.
With all the mischief he gets into there is still one looming thought in the back of my mind. He isn’t even walking yet, although he is capable of it. He paws his way around on two feet clinging to furniture and any other stable object he can get a grip on. He will also balance without assistance for a minute or more. These are telltale signs that he will be running in no time, at that point nothing will be safe. Looking toward the future, one year from now he will be almost two and will have a little brother that is his age right now. When I think about that I realize I need to get moving on replacing those worn out child locks.
Sunday, November 23, 2008
Effect Essay (With a bit more detail :)
Becoming a father and being a father has changed my life considerably. Now I look back at the way I used to be and think ‘what an idiot’. Reality hit me hard, like a closed fist to the side of the head when a nurse handed me a new baby boy and said, “Here you go daddy.” I remember thinking,” Daddy? I’m not a daddy, I’m a dumb punk kid with a shit job and no money, how can I be a daddy?” Then I realized I didn’t have a choice in the matter, I had to deal with what I had in my arms and do the best I could for it. Looking back at the situation now I think of the three effects it had on my life. Responsibility being the first, it may have been fun making this baby but now its life depends on mine. Maturity, how could I be a good father if I was a bad kid? And third, would be improvement. I needed to give this little guy everything in my power to make his life better.
At the age of eighteen I didn’t have a care in the world, but at that age a lot of people don’t. About the only thing I was concerned with was getting f***ed up and having a good time doing it. Responsibility was something I didn’t take seriously at all. I barely made it through high school, partying all the way through and drinking my way right out of college the first time around. Right around that time my girlfriend told me that she was pregnant. This life changing, unexpected surprise gave me a wakeup call but it didn’t really sink in. As I mentioned previously, it didn’t hit me until the first time I held him. That’s when I realized things needed to change and I had to do the changing. My partying stopped first which saved money to pay for medical bills. Once the bills were paid I started saving the extra money but still was not making much extra. Then an old friend of mine that I used to work with gave me a phone call. He had gotten a job in a local machine shop with nothing more than a high school diploma and was making a substantial amount of money and wanted to know if I was interested. Of course I was, so I went down and filled out a job application. They called me back less than a week later and set up an interview at which I was hired on the spot. This was a step in the right direction toward my goal of getting out of town and moving back to the country to raise a family. That was the first responsibility I had taken in years.
When reality finally hit me, it hurt. I was constantly getting myself into trouble at eighteen, to the point that every cop in town knew me, and not in a good way. The idea of becoming a father terrified me only because I knew that on my current path I would make a bad one. So I changed course, I stopped associating with my ‘friends’ that only seemed to get me into more trouble. In fact I even moved in with my girlfriend twenty-five miles away, partly to get away from them and stay out of trouble. Even after the baby was born though I still was just a kid with a kid, not a father. It took us months to adjust to the idea of being responsible parents. After a year or so of living in town we moved again, back to where I was from out in the country. I think it was the best move we ever made, and my old ‘friends’ never came around because we were just another couple that had kids. My girlfriend and I became Husband and Wife not to long after, another move I won’t soon regret. We did it, we were finally adults, living in our own home, working to pay the bills and raising a happy family. My parents always told me I needed to act my age.
Improvement, a lot lies within that one word. More than just growing up and learning from past mistakes. It consists of constantly finding better ways to do things, and making things better for all of us. I now have been doing that ‘new’ job for over five years and was able to work my way up a little. That job has been able to provide us with several things that would not have been possible on my old jobs salary. As of today I make more than double I did when my first son was born, the only down side is that the bills have doubled too. Fortunately we were able to move into my grandparent’s old house which was left to me when my grandmother past away, not having that mortgage payment has given us a little extra to work with. Every penny I’ve saved though has gone into improving the house, my wife and I have put a lot of time into it by renovating every room except for one and that’s on the to-do list. However, all the work hasn’t been for us, it is for a better place to raise a family. I also started going back to school part time to earn a degree and with that hopefully provide even more to our cause. More than that though, I have improved as a person. The person I once was scares the crap right out of me and I hope to instill the values that I’ve learned into my children before they go down the wrong path.
In closure, I wouldn’t change a thing. My wife and I are now on working on boy number three and above all, we are happy. The boys are happy too and they know they have a mom and dad that love them and would do anything for them. I hope they make the right decisions in life and lead good ones, all I can do is teach them what I know and hope for the best. After all, once they are older and grown up, their lives are in their own hands.
At the age of eighteen I didn’t have a care in the world, but at that age a lot of people don’t. About the only thing I was concerned with was getting f***ed up and having a good time doing it. Responsibility was something I didn’t take seriously at all. I barely made it through high school, partying all the way through and drinking my way right out of college the first time around. Right around that time my girlfriend told me that she was pregnant. This life changing, unexpected surprise gave me a wakeup call but it didn’t really sink in. As I mentioned previously, it didn’t hit me until the first time I held him. That’s when I realized things needed to change and I had to do the changing. My partying stopped first which saved money to pay for medical bills. Once the bills were paid I started saving the extra money but still was not making much extra. Then an old friend of mine that I used to work with gave me a phone call. He had gotten a job in a local machine shop with nothing more than a high school diploma and was making a substantial amount of money and wanted to know if I was interested. Of course I was, so I went down and filled out a job application. They called me back less than a week later and set up an interview at which I was hired on the spot. This was a step in the right direction toward my goal of getting out of town and moving back to the country to raise a family. That was the first responsibility I had taken in years.
When reality finally hit me, it hurt. I was constantly getting myself into trouble at eighteen, to the point that every cop in town knew me, and not in a good way. The idea of becoming a father terrified me only because I knew that on my current path I would make a bad one. So I changed course, I stopped associating with my ‘friends’ that only seemed to get me into more trouble. In fact I even moved in with my girlfriend twenty-five miles away, partly to get away from them and stay out of trouble. Even after the baby was born though I still was just a kid with a kid, not a father. It took us months to adjust to the idea of being responsible parents. After a year or so of living in town we moved again, back to where I was from out in the country. I think it was the best move we ever made, and my old ‘friends’ never came around because we were just another couple that had kids. My girlfriend and I became Husband and Wife not to long after, another move I won’t soon regret. We did it, we were finally adults, living in our own home, working to pay the bills and raising a happy family. My parents always told me I needed to act my age.
Improvement, a lot lies within that one word. More than just growing up and learning from past mistakes. It consists of constantly finding better ways to do things, and making things better for all of us. I now have been doing that ‘new’ job for over five years and was able to work my way up a little. That job has been able to provide us with several things that would not have been possible on my old jobs salary. As of today I make more than double I did when my first son was born, the only down side is that the bills have doubled too. Fortunately we were able to move into my grandparent’s old house which was left to me when my grandmother past away, not having that mortgage payment has given us a little extra to work with. Every penny I’ve saved though has gone into improving the house, my wife and I have put a lot of time into it by renovating every room except for one and that’s on the to-do list. However, all the work hasn’t been for us, it is for a better place to raise a family. I also started going back to school part time to earn a degree and with that hopefully provide even more to our cause. More than that though, I have improved as a person. The person I once was scares the crap right out of me and I hope to instill the values that I’ve learned into my children before they go down the wrong path.
In closure, I wouldn’t change a thing. My wife and I are now on working on boy number three and above all, we are happy. The boys are happy too and they know they have a mom and dad that love them and would do anything for them. I hope they make the right decisions in life and lead good ones, all I can do is teach them what I know and hope for the best. After all, once they are older and grown up, their lives are in their own hands.
Monday, November 10, 2008
Effect Essay
Becoming a father and being a father has changed my life considerably. Now I look back at the way I used to be and think ‘what an idiot’. Reality hit me hard, like a closed fist to the side of the head when a nurse handed me a new baby boy and said, “Here you go daddy.” I remember thinking,” Daddy? I’m not a daddy, I’m a dumb punk kid with a shit job and no money, how can I be a daddy?” Then I realized I didn’t have a choice in the matter, I had to deal with what I had in my arms and do the best I could for it. Looking back at the situation now I think of the three effects it had on my life. Responsibility being the first, it may have been fun making this baby but now its life depends on mine. Maturity, how could I be a good father if I was a bad kid? And third, would be improvement. I needed to give this little guy everything in my power to make his life better.
At the age of eighteen I didn’t have a care in the world, but at that age a lot of people don’t. About the only thing I was concerned with was getting f***ed up and having a good time doing it. Responsibility was something I didn’t take seriously at all. I barely made it through high school, partying all the way through and drinking my way right out of college the first time around. Right around that time my girlfriend told me that she was pregnant. This life changing, unexpected surprise gave me a wakeup call but it didn’t really sink in. As I mentioned previously, it didn’t hit me until the first time I held him. We decided that we needed to take charge of our actions and do the best we could with them. That was the first responsibility I had taken in years.
When reality finally hit me, it hurt. I was constantly getting myself into trouble at eighteen, to the point that every cop in town knew me, and not in a good way. The idea of becoming a father terrified me only because I knew that on my current path I would make a bad one. So I changed course, I stopped associating with my ‘friends’ that only seemed to get me into more trouble. In fact I even moved in with my girlfriend twenty-five miles away, partly to get away from them and stay out of trouble. Even after the baby was born though I still was just a kid with a kid, not a father. It took us months to adjust to the idea of being responsible parents. After a year or so of living in town we moved again, back to where I was from out in the country. I think it was the best move we ever made, and my old ‘friends’ never came around because we were just another couple that had kids. My girlfriend and I became Husband and Wife not to long after, another move I won’t soon regret. We did it, we were finally adults, living in our own home, working to pay the bills and raising a happy family. My parents always told me I needed to act my age.
Improvement, a lot lies within that one word. More than just growing up and learning from past mistakes. It consists of constantly finding better ways to do things, and making things better for all of us. For starters I got a better job making double what I did when my first son was born. That job has been able to provide us with several things that would not have been possible on my old jobs salary. My wife and I have put a lot of time and money into the house in which we live, but it’s not for us, it is for a better place to raise a family. I also started going back to school part time to earn a degree and with that hopefully provide even more to our cause. More than that though, I have improved as a person. The person I once was scares the crap right out of me and I hope to instill the values that I’ve learned into my children before they go down the wrong path.
In closure, I wouldn’t change a thing. My wife and I are now on working on boy number three and above all, we are happy. The boys are happy too and they know they have a mom and dad that love them and would do anything for them. I hope they make the right decisions in life and lead good ones, all I can do is teach them what I know and hope for the best. After all, once they are older and grown up, their lives are in their own hands.
At the age of eighteen I didn’t have a care in the world, but at that age a lot of people don’t. About the only thing I was concerned with was getting f***ed up and having a good time doing it. Responsibility was something I didn’t take seriously at all. I barely made it through high school, partying all the way through and drinking my way right out of college the first time around. Right around that time my girlfriend told me that she was pregnant. This life changing, unexpected surprise gave me a wakeup call but it didn’t really sink in. As I mentioned previously, it didn’t hit me until the first time I held him. We decided that we needed to take charge of our actions and do the best we could with them. That was the first responsibility I had taken in years.
When reality finally hit me, it hurt. I was constantly getting myself into trouble at eighteen, to the point that every cop in town knew me, and not in a good way. The idea of becoming a father terrified me only because I knew that on my current path I would make a bad one. So I changed course, I stopped associating with my ‘friends’ that only seemed to get me into more trouble. In fact I even moved in with my girlfriend twenty-five miles away, partly to get away from them and stay out of trouble. Even after the baby was born though I still was just a kid with a kid, not a father. It took us months to adjust to the idea of being responsible parents. After a year or so of living in town we moved again, back to where I was from out in the country. I think it was the best move we ever made, and my old ‘friends’ never came around because we were just another couple that had kids. My girlfriend and I became Husband and Wife not to long after, another move I won’t soon regret. We did it, we were finally adults, living in our own home, working to pay the bills and raising a happy family. My parents always told me I needed to act my age.
Improvement, a lot lies within that one word. More than just growing up and learning from past mistakes. It consists of constantly finding better ways to do things, and making things better for all of us. For starters I got a better job making double what I did when my first son was born. That job has been able to provide us with several things that would not have been possible on my old jobs salary. My wife and I have put a lot of time and money into the house in which we live, but it’s not for us, it is for a better place to raise a family. I also started going back to school part time to earn a degree and with that hopefully provide even more to our cause. More than that though, I have improved as a person. The person I once was scares the crap right out of me and I hope to instill the values that I’ve learned into my children before they go down the wrong path.
In closure, I wouldn’t change a thing. My wife and I are now on working on boy number three and above all, we are happy. The boys are happy too and they know they have a mom and dad that love them and would do anything for them. I hope they make the right decisions in life and lead good ones, all I can do is teach them what I know and hope for the best. After all, once they are older and grown up, their lives are in their own hands.
Tuesday, November 4, 2008
Division Essay
I’ve seen a few of them already, tiny little specks floating down from somewhere high above. Examining one up close shows how intricate, and individual Mother Nature can be but, when you get buried in a foot or more of these little specks overnight their unique qualities fade away. They turn into more of an annoyance, robbed of their individual beauty which is replaced by frustration, and a sore back and shoulders. I take those first few natural marvels as a warning, a warning that reads “YOU HAVE A LOT TO DO OUT THERE BEFORE MORE OF US ARRIVE”. Winterization can be broken down into three major categories starting with extra insulation around the house, stopping all the little heat loss areas before they start losing heat. Next is cleaning out the garage, eight months of stuff piled up into one giant booby trap that may all come crashing down after moving the wrong thing first. And finally, giving the car and the jeep a good cleaning before it gets too cold to wash them and the doors freeze shut over night.
I remember as a kid right around this time of year my dad would be walking around in the house with a lit cigarette and a tube of window caulk. He would slowly move from window to window tracing the outside edge with the cigarette, eyes focused on the plumes of smoke that drifted upward. A sudden stop indicated that he saw what he was looking for. He would stare it down for a second then without shifting his eyes the lit smoke would go to his mouth and the caulking gun to the window. “Gotcha”, he’d say as he smoothed out the bead with his finger tip and systematically moved on to the next air leak. Nowadays I use the same method but instead of a lit cigarette I use an incent stick, but that is the only difference. Window caulk, weather stripping, and foam-in-a-can insulation are the main weapons of choice in my winterization arsenal. Every fall the three exterior doors in the house get a new strip of half inch weather strip, that stuff is great. I have to double it up on my front door because it doesn’t fit squarely in the frame but once that is done there is no draft around that door. It’s also cheap and very easy to use, if you can use tape then you can use weather stripping. Foam in a can may be the single greatest invention for winterizing, it may be messy to use but it works awesome. I put a solid bead of it around the sill of the house last year and it actually kept my un-heated basement warm. Well, not warm but tolerable hovering around fifty degrees. This year will be a test for it, in the past years the hot water pipes from my forced hot water baseboard threw off enough heat to keep it above freezing. Now I’ll be heating the house with a pellet stove and hopefully the heat upstairs will radiate down, all the more reason to keep as much heat inside as possible.
In the winter I keep my car in the garage only driving it on the days when the roads are clear and none of those pesky white specks are in the forecast. Once the snow is gone in the spring and the car is being driven daily my garage transforms from a car bay into a shrine to the junk gods. The summer yard toys get pulled out their winter storage spots one after another and after they have been played with never make it back to where they were. Instead they end up slowly being piled on top of one another until finally in the fall they stand like some un-conquerable mountain of bikes, golf clubs, and pool toys. When the day comes and it’s time to conquer the mountain it takes just that, a day. This year I had an added twist, four tons of wood pellets sitting right where my car goes. At forty pounds per bag it took nearly half a day to move them into the basement but once they were moved it made the garage cleaning look a lot less intimidating. With just a few more finishing touches and a good sweeping it will be transformed back into a garage fit to house a vehicle.
The third and final task at hand is to clean the car and the jeep out. A few years ago when the car was new, I washed it at least once a week. Now I look at it and there are still bug guts splattered across the front end, almost like some memorial to all the insects that perished on those late night rides home from work. No worries though, the pressure washer will strip them off with little effort. I look at the jeep and it still looks clean. During the summer months the only time it moves is when it is loaded with trash and headed for the town dump. But none the less, both vehicles need to be cleaned soon to avoid doing it in the freezing cold like I’ve done in past years. I start with the interior, vigorously sucking up dirt and debris with my shop vac. Once that’s done I’ll wash down the dash board and other surfaces with warm soapy water then wash the windows. All the interiors will need after that is a new air freshener. The exteriors then get a thin coating of Simple Green, they sit for an hour or so, and then get blasted with the pressure washer. This strips all the grit and grime off for good. I go over the surfaces with a sponge and get all the stuck on nasty stuff that the pressure washer can’t get. After they dry I put a good thick coat of wax on and buff them until they shine like the sun. The wax really helps protect the paint from salt and the liquid brine that is sprayed on the road before a big storm. As we all know, living in Maine and driving in our winters can ruin a good car in just a few years.
Once all these tasks are completed I can confidently look toward the sky and say, “Come on winter, bring it on, I’m ready”. As little as I like the sound of that it’s true, I am now ready to get buried in little white specks and shovel my way out of them. After all winter isn’t all bad, I love playing in the snow with my oldest boy, maybe someday I’ll spring for a snowmobile and have some high speed fun. Plus I get to go back to work on the ‘new’ wishing well I’ve been building in the basement for the last two winters. Depending on how much snow we get this time around, I might actually have it finished by the time all the snow is melted.
I remember as a kid right around this time of year my dad would be walking around in the house with a lit cigarette and a tube of window caulk. He would slowly move from window to window tracing the outside edge with the cigarette, eyes focused on the plumes of smoke that drifted upward. A sudden stop indicated that he saw what he was looking for. He would stare it down for a second then without shifting his eyes the lit smoke would go to his mouth and the caulking gun to the window. “Gotcha”, he’d say as he smoothed out the bead with his finger tip and systematically moved on to the next air leak. Nowadays I use the same method but instead of a lit cigarette I use an incent stick, but that is the only difference. Window caulk, weather stripping, and foam-in-a-can insulation are the main weapons of choice in my winterization arsenal. Every fall the three exterior doors in the house get a new strip of half inch weather strip, that stuff is great. I have to double it up on my front door because it doesn’t fit squarely in the frame but once that is done there is no draft around that door. It’s also cheap and very easy to use, if you can use tape then you can use weather stripping. Foam in a can may be the single greatest invention for winterizing, it may be messy to use but it works awesome. I put a solid bead of it around the sill of the house last year and it actually kept my un-heated basement warm. Well, not warm but tolerable hovering around fifty degrees. This year will be a test for it, in the past years the hot water pipes from my forced hot water baseboard threw off enough heat to keep it above freezing. Now I’ll be heating the house with a pellet stove and hopefully the heat upstairs will radiate down, all the more reason to keep as much heat inside as possible.
In the winter I keep my car in the garage only driving it on the days when the roads are clear and none of those pesky white specks are in the forecast. Once the snow is gone in the spring and the car is being driven daily my garage transforms from a car bay into a shrine to the junk gods. The summer yard toys get pulled out their winter storage spots one after another and after they have been played with never make it back to where they were. Instead they end up slowly being piled on top of one another until finally in the fall they stand like some un-conquerable mountain of bikes, golf clubs, and pool toys. When the day comes and it’s time to conquer the mountain it takes just that, a day. This year I had an added twist, four tons of wood pellets sitting right where my car goes. At forty pounds per bag it took nearly half a day to move them into the basement but once they were moved it made the garage cleaning look a lot less intimidating. With just a few more finishing touches and a good sweeping it will be transformed back into a garage fit to house a vehicle.
The third and final task at hand is to clean the car and the jeep out. A few years ago when the car was new, I washed it at least once a week. Now I look at it and there are still bug guts splattered across the front end, almost like some memorial to all the insects that perished on those late night rides home from work. No worries though, the pressure washer will strip them off with little effort. I look at the jeep and it still looks clean. During the summer months the only time it moves is when it is loaded with trash and headed for the town dump. But none the less, both vehicles need to be cleaned soon to avoid doing it in the freezing cold like I’ve done in past years. I start with the interior, vigorously sucking up dirt and debris with my shop vac. Once that’s done I’ll wash down the dash board and other surfaces with warm soapy water then wash the windows. All the interiors will need after that is a new air freshener. The exteriors then get a thin coating of Simple Green, they sit for an hour or so, and then get blasted with the pressure washer. This strips all the grit and grime off for good. I go over the surfaces with a sponge and get all the stuck on nasty stuff that the pressure washer can’t get. After they dry I put a good thick coat of wax on and buff them until they shine like the sun. The wax really helps protect the paint from salt and the liquid brine that is sprayed on the road before a big storm. As we all know, living in Maine and driving in our winters can ruin a good car in just a few years.
Once all these tasks are completed I can confidently look toward the sky and say, “Come on winter, bring it on, I’m ready”. As little as I like the sound of that it’s true, I am now ready to get buried in little white specks and shovel my way out of them. After all winter isn’t all bad, I love playing in the snow with my oldest boy, maybe someday I’ll spring for a snowmobile and have some high speed fun. Plus I get to go back to work on the ‘new’ wishing well I’ve been building in the basement for the last two winters. Depending on how much snow we get this time around, I might actually have it finished by the time all the snow is melted.
Monday, October 27, 2008
Process Essay
Yeah, yeah, yeah, the gas and heating oil prices are falling back again. Don’t tell me I wasted money on a pellet stove though, as soon as OPEC cuts production prices will jump right back up again. Besides, I get a nice, warm, glowing fire lighting up my newly remodeled living room. This makes a perfect place for the wife and I to relax on the weekends once the kids are in bed. But man, that glass is developing a brown film on it already, I just cleaned the thing two days ago and it looks like I’ll be doing it again tomorrow. A quick clean doesn’t get too involved but I haven’t done that for nearly a week and a half so in the morning I’ll get down and dirty and give the stove a good clean. It is best to do this in a few stages starting with the burn pot (where the fire is), then getting all the ash off the heat exchangers, and finally cleaning around the combustion fan and the ash pan.
Stage one of the big clean starts inside the stoves burn pot. This is where the fire actually burns and heats up the heat exchangers overhead. My particular stove is a Harman and works differently than most other manufacturer’s models. My pellets feed in from the bottom and as they burn the ash gets pushed up a ramp in the burn pot until it finally falls off the edge and into a large ash pan bellow. Harman’s are the only company that uses this system because of a little thing called a Patent. They are much cleaner and more efficient than the competitors design but still require routine cleaning. I start off buy scraping all the ash up and out and exposing the carbon or ‘mineral’ build up that collects on the walls and floor of the burn pot. That build up has to go because it can interfere with the feeding and eventually cause the flame to smother itself out. For this removal process I use an old flat blade screw driver and scrape the whole thing down loosening all the solid chunks and then knocking them down in the ash pan. This stage is essential because carbon build up will also prevent the stove from igniting itself if it is all blocked up. The burn pot is the main area of focus because if it is dirty, the stove will not run.
So with the burn pot clean I can now move onto the second stage, cleaning the heat exchangers. As the fire burn it throws a lot of fly ash around which collects on the heat exchangers on the top of the fire box and behind the fire wall. This is when I haul out grandma’s old vacuum cleaner to catch all the fine ash particles that come floating down from above. You’ll want to use a vacuum that uses bags for this, if you use a shop vac., the filter will be constantly plugged by the fine ash. The tool that works the best for this stage is an old paint brush along with the vacuum. While holding the tip of the vacuum nozzle inside the stove use the old brush to sweep the fine ash that clings to the surface away. The ash will slowly drift downward and with the vacuum there it can’t get out into the room. Once the top is clean the back guards need to be removed to clean behind them also. My stove has a cast iron panel with a brick pattern that needs to come out. Behind that are four sheet metal plates that all need to be removed to access the rear heat exchangers. They are easy to take out and now the rear exchangers are in full view. Use the trusty old paint brush and vacuum to clean them the same way as the top exchangers. Once they are clean the sheet metal plates can go back in along with the brick panel and that’s it for cleaning the fire box area.
Now the top part of the stove is complete, the fire will burn well and there is no ash to block the smoke and fumes exit. Stage three is when thing get a little dirty, rooting around in the ash pan and whatever lurks behind it. I open the side doors on the stove to get at the ash pan locks, there is an air tight seal between the ash pan and the combustion motor so the locks tend to be a little rugged to unlatch. Once it’s unlocked the pan needs to come out. Keep the vacuum handy because the ash pan will drag all kinds of ash out with it once it is removed. Clean the back side of the pan off before you go anywhere with it or else there will be ashes everywhere. Sometimes there is almost an inch of ash built up back there, and that all has to go. With the pan off I can now access the combustion motor fan, which also likes to collect ash on it. To get at the fan a small guard has to be removed, just slide the guard lock up, pull the guard to the left and out it comes. Take the old paint brush to the fan and then suck up anything that comes out of it. After that is clean put the fan guard back in and presto! All done with the stove clean up.
That’s it, plain and simple plus not all that time consuming. With this regular maintenance the stove should function flawlessly all winter long. The wife and I can sit comfortably by the fire on those cold winter nights and in the back of my mind I’ll know I’m saving some cash no matter what those OPEC folks do. And by the way, that brown film on the glass comes right off with a little Windex and some elbow grease.
Stage one of the big clean starts inside the stoves burn pot. This is where the fire actually burns and heats up the heat exchangers overhead. My particular stove is a Harman and works differently than most other manufacturer’s models. My pellets feed in from the bottom and as they burn the ash gets pushed up a ramp in the burn pot until it finally falls off the edge and into a large ash pan bellow. Harman’s are the only company that uses this system because of a little thing called a Patent. They are much cleaner and more efficient than the competitors design but still require routine cleaning. I start off buy scraping all the ash up and out and exposing the carbon or ‘mineral’ build up that collects on the walls and floor of the burn pot. That build up has to go because it can interfere with the feeding and eventually cause the flame to smother itself out. For this removal process I use an old flat blade screw driver and scrape the whole thing down loosening all the solid chunks and then knocking them down in the ash pan. This stage is essential because carbon build up will also prevent the stove from igniting itself if it is all blocked up. The burn pot is the main area of focus because if it is dirty, the stove will not run.
So with the burn pot clean I can now move onto the second stage, cleaning the heat exchangers. As the fire burn it throws a lot of fly ash around which collects on the heat exchangers on the top of the fire box and behind the fire wall. This is when I haul out grandma’s old vacuum cleaner to catch all the fine ash particles that come floating down from above. You’ll want to use a vacuum that uses bags for this, if you use a shop vac., the filter will be constantly plugged by the fine ash. The tool that works the best for this stage is an old paint brush along with the vacuum. While holding the tip of the vacuum nozzle inside the stove use the old brush to sweep the fine ash that clings to the surface away. The ash will slowly drift downward and with the vacuum there it can’t get out into the room. Once the top is clean the back guards need to be removed to clean behind them also. My stove has a cast iron panel with a brick pattern that needs to come out. Behind that are four sheet metal plates that all need to be removed to access the rear heat exchangers. They are easy to take out and now the rear exchangers are in full view. Use the trusty old paint brush and vacuum to clean them the same way as the top exchangers. Once they are clean the sheet metal plates can go back in along with the brick panel and that’s it for cleaning the fire box area.
Now the top part of the stove is complete, the fire will burn well and there is no ash to block the smoke and fumes exit. Stage three is when thing get a little dirty, rooting around in the ash pan and whatever lurks behind it. I open the side doors on the stove to get at the ash pan locks, there is an air tight seal between the ash pan and the combustion motor so the locks tend to be a little rugged to unlatch. Once it’s unlocked the pan needs to come out. Keep the vacuum handy because the ash pan will drag all kinds of ash out with it once it is removed. Clean the back side of the pan off before you go anywhere with it or else there will be ashes everywhere. Sometimes there is almost an inch of ash built up back there, and that all has to go. With the pan off I can now access the combustion motor fan, which also likes to collect ash on it. To get at the fan a small guard has to be removed, just slide the guard lock up, pull the guard to the left and out it comes. Take the old paint brush to the fan and then suck up anything that comes out of it. After that is clean put the fan guard back in and presto! All done with the stove clean up.
That’s it, plain and simple plus not all that time consuming. With this regular maintenance the stove should function flawlessly all winter long. The wife and I can sit comfortably by the fire on those cold winter nights and in the back of my mind I’ll know I’m saving some cash no matter what those OPEC folks do. And by the way, that brown film on the glass comes right off with a little Windex and some elbow grease.
Wednesday, October 22, 2008
Annotated Source List
"How to finish a Basement." Basements101.com. 16 Oct. 2008
This site has much to offer, it has a wide range of information from start to finish including diagrams, tips & tricks and advice from the pros. An excellent source of information for the do-it-yourselfer. Nearly step by step instructions to walk you through the whole process. Very helpful. A+
Carter, Tim. "Basement & Unfinished Space-Finishing/Construction Tips." Ask the Builder.com. 16 Oct. 2008.
Ask the Builder shares some valuable info from an insider’s perspective right from the start. You need to do some digging to get the most out of it but that only shows how much info is available on this site. A site search not powered by google would be helpful. A-.
"Finished Basement Ideas." FINISHEDBASEMENTIDEAS. 18 Oct. 2008.
This site offers nearly thirty different categories to chose from, all with a quick article on the topic selected. One of the greatest things about it is they factor price into the equation with a link to a calculator right there on the site. I’m a big fan of that because low cost and good looks will be my ultimate goal. B.
This site has much to offer, it has a wide range of information from start to finish including diagrams, tips & tricks and advice from the pros. An excellent source of information for the do-it-yourselfer. Nearly step by step instructions to walk you through the whole process. Very helpful. A+
Carter, Tim. "Basement & Unfinished Space-Finishing/Construction Tips." Ask the Builder.com. 16 Oct. 2008
Ask the Builder shares some valuable info from an insider’s perspective right from the start. You need to do some digging to get the most out of it but that only shows how much info is available on this site. A site search not powered by google would be helpful. A-.
"Finished Basement Ideas." FINISHEDBASEMENTIDEAS. 18 Oct. 2008
This site offers nearly thirty different categories to chose from, all with a quick article on the topic selected. One of the greatest things about it is they factor price into the equation with a link to a calculator right there on the site. I’m a big fan of that because low cost and good looks will be my ultimate goal. B.
Graf#10
When I was in school I did plenty of research for different home work assignments. Most, if not all the research came from the old, ratty stack of Encyclopedias on a shelf in the school library. The internet was in its infancy and only available on three computers for a school of over four-hundred students…and I didn’t get much time with it back then. My first real deal with internet research came only about a year and a half ago when my wife had a routine test done during her pregnancy. This was the test for down syndrome, a simple blood drawing. They also check for several other defects, mostly chromosome related. Our test results were every expecting parent’s worst nightmare. The baby tested positive for something called trisomy 18, a chromosome defect. This trisomy 18 didn’t sound good at all coming from the doctor but most of it was all greek to us, so I decided to do some digging of my own on this unfamiliar topic. What I found terrified me, horrible birth defects if the baby even survived the pregnancy. In most cases the fetus doesn’t make it full term but in the rare occurrence that it does it will have little chance, if any of surviving outside the womb. The oldest living person with this defect only lived to age four. Then I started looking at the testing methods and results but things just didn’t add up, the numbers didn’t go together at all. These are the actual figures I found. 1 out of 24 pregnancies tests positive for trisomy 18 but only 1 out of 10,000 babies born actually has it. Take into the account all the ones that don’t make it and still, nothing adds up. We took our chances and said to hell with the doctors and all the bogus tests. Today we have a beautiful, healthy and happy, ten month old boy.
Sunday, October 19, 2008
Contrast Essay with some tweeking
I have worked in a high volume machine shop for over five years. In my line of work I encounter all kinds of people. I am the trainer, the one who teaches how it’s done and I have perfected this black art, at least in my own arena. The text book from which I teach is nonexistent. My course is all in my mind somewhere and catered to the individual student. I have been the voice of guidance, and judgment for all that have been set before me, pass or fail. I won’t lie, more have failed to live up to my high expectations than those who have succeeded. But the handful of people who have passed are more than capable to take over for me when the torch is passed. As for the failures, I’m often the last person they work with within my companies walls. The few failures that eek past me end up in some monotonous job doing the same thing day in and day out. The one thing that keeps them there is that they show up almost every day. The few that can do my job are the hard workers. The ones who can’t compare are the lazy.
Hard workers are my kind of people, they know what it takes to earn money, not just make it. I can relate to them because hard work was pressed into me by my parents as a child and taking the easy way out was unheard of. In the summer it gets hot at work. 95 degrees and 95 percent humidity are normal conditions from late June through the end of August. The sweat beads off you standing still and your clothing clings to your body. The hard workers press on through it with little complaining, if any. The most they will say is “pretty frigin’ warm in here today” as they continue on their walk around the line. Un-like them the lazy man makes money by showing up for work and making it until the end of the day, not “earning” a dime of their pay checks. Looking busy when the boss man comes around is the only thing they have perfected. They look for any available excuse to walk off line, especially on those hotter than hell days. The company stocks the freezer full of popsicles in the summer which is a nice gesture but if one of my lazy guys is MIA, I know I’ll find him goin’ to town on a creamsicle sitting down in the break room. Then I have to be an asshole and tell him to get back to work because in the end, I’m responsible for the production numbers, and the parts don’t make themselves.
A prime example of one vs. the other can be seen in attendance alone. In my opinion the hardest worker there has been with the company for twelve years, let’s call him ‘Mr. B’. In the last ten he has had perfect attendance, I mean perfect, no lateness or leaving early not even a miss punch. At the other end of the spectrum is ‘Mr. K’. Mr. K has been with the company a little over a year and has missed fourteen days! How can he still be employed here? The company only allows nine absences a year, after that you’re gone. Mr. K is a person who puts more effort in getting out of work than actually working. He has found loop holes in the company hand/rule book and has pushed them to the limit. If he misses one more day, is late or leaves early, or simply forgets to punch in or out he is done. Why would you put yourself in that position? But Mr. B doesn’t even take his two paid personal days that he has earned for his years of service. Instead the company pays him for the two days at the end of the year because our personal days do not roll over to the next year.
Aside from training people I also am responsible for production requirements for my designated area. This means that if a piece of equipment breaks down or has a malfunction of some kind I fix it. I depend on the operator to tell me when a problem has occurred. The hard worker notifies me immediately when a problem arises. While I fix the machine they find ways to keep busy. Double checking the quality of the product or grabbing a broom and dust pan, anything to contribute to the job. A hard worker will return from break early just to get a jump start on the last half of the shift. On the other hand Mr. K or anyone of his followers will deliberately waste time trying to fix something they know they can’t. When they finally decide to call for help and I arrive they say something like “I’m gonna go use the bathroom” or “I’ll be right back”. Fifteen minutes later they show up with cheeto residue on their face saying “Is it fixed yet?” Most of the time it’s a quick fix that takes five minutes and I’ve been doing their job for ten minutes waiting them to return. They also are the first people to go to lunch and the last ones to return.
In the end I’ve learned that it is no use complaining to the higher up big wigs. Sometimes they turn things around and make sound like I’m not doing my job. I’m letting them ‘get away with it’ but yet I have no authoritative power. I’ve come to the conclusion that most of the bosses are just as lazy as Mr. K and they stick together like a lazy mans workers union. Instead of taking responsibility and whipping them into shape or firing them, the extra work load is simply piled onto the next guy who’s trying to earn his pay.
Hard workers are my kind of people, they know what it takes to earn money, not just make it. I can relate to them because hard work was pressed into me by my parents as a child and taking the easy way out was unheard of. In the summer it gets hot at work. 95 degrees and 95 percent humidity are normal conditions from late June through the end of August. The sweat beads off you standing still and your clothing clings to your body. The hard workers press on through it with little complaining, if any. The most they will say is “pretty frigin’ warm in here today” as they continue on their walk around the line. Un-like them the lazy man makes money by showing up for work and making it until the end of the day, not “earning” a dime of their pay checks. Looking busy when the boss man comes around is the only thing they have perfected. They look for any available excuse to walk off line, especially on those hotter than hell days. The company stocks the freezer full of popsicles in the summer which is a nice gesture but if one of my lazy guys is MIA, I know I’ll find him goin’ to town on a creamsicle sitting down in the break room. Then I have to be an asshole and tell him to get back to work because in the end, I’m responsible for the production numbers, and the parts don’t make themselves.
A prime example of one vs. the other can be seen in attendance alone. In my opinion the hardest worker there has been with the company for twelve years, let’s call him ‘Mr. B’. In the last ten he has had perfect attendance, I mean perfect, no lateness or leaving early not even a miss punch. At the other end of the spectrum is ‘Mr. K’. Mr. K has been with the company a little over a year and has missed fourteen days! How can he still be employed here? The company only allows nine absences a year, after that you’re gone. Mr. K is a person who puts more effort in getting out of work than actually working. He has found loop holes in the company hand/rule book and has pushed them to the limit. If he misses one more day, is late or leaves early, or simply forgets to punch in or out he is done. Why would you put yourself in that position? But Mr. B doesn’t even take his two paid personal days that he has earned for his years of service. Instead the company pays him for the two days at the end of the year because our personal days do not roll over to the next year.
Aside from training people I also am responsible for production requirements for my designated area. This means that if a piece of equipment breaks down or has a malfunction of some kind I fix it. I depend on the operator to tell me when a problem has occurred. The hard worker notifies me immediately when a problem arises. While I fix the machine they find ways to keep busy. Double checking the quality of the product or grabbing a broom and dust pan, anything to contribute to the job. A hard worker will return from break early just to get a jump start on the last half of the shift. On the other hand Mr. K or anyone of his followers will deliberately waste time trying to fix something they know they can’t. When they finally decide to call for help and I arrive they say something like “I’m gonna go use the bathroom” or “I’ll be right back”. Fifteen minutes later they show up with cheeto residue on their face saying “Is it fixed yet?” Most of the time it’s a quick fix that takes five minutes and I’ve been doing their job for ten minutes waiting them to return. They also are the first people to go to lunch and the last ones to return.
In the end I’ve learned that it is no use complaining to the higher up big wigs. Sometimes they turn things around and make sound like I’m not doing my job. I’m letting them ‘get away with it’ but yet I have no authoritative power. I’ve come to the conclusion that most of the bosses are just as lazy as Mr. K and they stick together like a lazy mans workers union. Instead of taking responsibility and whipping them into shape or firing them, the extra work load is simply piled onto the next guy who’s trying to earn his pay.
Thursday, October 16, 2008
Contrast Essay
I have worked in a high volume machine shop for over five years. In my line of work I encounter all kinds of people. I am the trainer, the one who teaches how it’s done and I have perfected this black art, at least in my own arena. The text book from which I teach is nonexistent. My course is all in my mind somewhere and catered to the individual student. I have been the voice of guidance, and judgment for all that have been set before me, pass or fail. I won’t lie, more have failed to live up to my high expectations than those who have succeeded. But the handful of people who have passed are more than capable to take over for me when the torch is passed. As for the failures, I’m often the last person they work with within my companies walls. The few failures that eek past me end up in some monotonous job doing the same thing day in and day out. The one thing that keeps them there is that they show up almost every day. The few that can do my job are the hard workers. The ones who can’t compare are the lazy.
Hard workers are my kind of people, they know what it takes to earn money, not just make it. Hard work was pressed into me by my parents as a child and taking the easy way out was unheard of. A lazy man makes money by showing up for work and making it until the end of the day, not “earning” a dime of their pay check. Looking busy when the boss man comes around is the only thing they have perfected. The sad part is that some lazy ones put more effort into getting out of working than if they had just done their job. Not the case with a hard worker, they will give all day in and day out never uttering a complaint. People who work hard take pride in their job, a far cry from just showing up every day.
A prime example of one vs. the other can be seen in attendance alone. In my opinion the hardest worker there has been with the company for twelve years, let’s call him ‘Mr. B’. In the last ten he has had perfect attendance, I mean perfect, no lateness or leaving early not even a miss punch. At the other end of the spectrum is ‘Mr. K’. Mr. K has been with the company a little over a year and has missed fourteen days! How can he still be employed here? The company only allows nine absences a year, after that you’re gone. Mr. K is a person who puts more effort in getting out of work than actually working. He has found loop holes in the company hand/rule book and has pushed them to the limit. If he misses one more day, is late or leaves early, or simply forgets to punch in or out he is done. Why would you put yourself in that position? But Mr. B doesn’t even take his two paid personal days that he has earned for his years of service. Instead the company pays him for the two days at the end of the year because our personal days do not roll over to the next year.
Aside from training people I also am responsible for production requirements for my designated area. This means that if a piece of equipment breaks down or has a malfunction of some kind I fix it. I depend on the operator to tell me when a problem has occurred. The hard worker notifies me immediately when a problem arises. While I fix the machine they find ways to keep busy. Double checking the quality of the product or grabbing a broom and dust pan, anything to contribute to the job. Mr. K or anyone of his followers will deliberately waste time trying to fix something they know they can’t. When they finally decide to call for help and I arrive they say something like “I’m gonna go use the bathroom” or “I’ll be right back”. Fifteen minutes later they show up with cheeto residue on their face saying “Is it fixed yet?” Most of the time it’s a quick fix that takes five minutes and I’ve been doing their job for ten minutes waiting them to return. They also are the first people to go to lunch and the last ones to return. But a hard worker will return from break early just to get a jump start on the last half of the shift.
In the end I’ve learned that it is no use complaining to the higher up big wigs. Sometimes they turn things around and make sound like I’m not doing my job. I’m letting them ‘get away with it’ but yet I have no authoritative power. I’ve come to the conclusion that most of the bosses are just as lazy as Mr. K and they stick together like a lazy mans workers union. Instead of taking responsibility and whipping them into shape or firing them, the extra work load is simply piled onto the next guy who’s trying to earn his pay.
Hard workers are my kind of people, they know what it takes to earn money, not just make it. Hard work was pressed into me by my parents as a child and taking the easy way out was unheard of. A lazy man makes money by showing up for work and making it until the end of the day, not “earning” a dime of their pay check. Looking busy when the boss man comes around is the only thing they have perfected. The sad part is that some lazy ones put more effort into getting out of working than if they had just done their job. Not the case with a hard worker, they will give all day in and day out never uttering a complaint. People who work hard take pride in their job, a far cry from just showing up every day.
A prime example of one vs. the other can be seen in attendance alone. In my opinion the hardest worker there has been with the company for twelve years, let’s call him ‘Mr. B’. In the last ten he has had perfect attendance, I mean perfect, no lateness or leaving early not even a miss punch. At the other end of the spectrum is ‘Mr. K’. Mr. K has been with the company a little over a year and has missed fourteen days! How can he still be employed here? The company only allows nine absences a year, after that you’re gone. Mr. K is a person who puts more effort in getting out of work than actually working. He has found loop holes in the company hand/rule book and has pushed them to the limit. If he misses one more day, is late or leaves early, or simply forgets to punch in or out he is done. Why would you put yourself in that position? But Mr. B doesn’t even take his two paid personal days that he has earned for his years of service. Instead the company pays him for the two days at the end of the year because our personal days do not roll over to the next year.
Aside from training people I also am responsible for production requirements for my designated area. This means that if a piece of equipment breaks down or has a malfunction of some kind I fix it. I depend on the operator to tell me when a problem has occurred. The hard worker notifies me immediately when a problem arises. While I fix the machine they find ways to keep busy. Double checking the quality of the product or grabbing a broom and dust pan, anything to contribute to the job. Mr. K or anyone of his followers will deliberately waste time trying to fix something they know they can’t. When they finally decide to call for help and I arrive they say something like “I’m gonna go use the bathroom” or “I’ll be right back”. Fifteen minutes later they show up with cheeto residue on their face saying “Is it fixed yet?” Most of the time it’s a quick fix that takes five minutes and I’ve been doing their job for ten minutes waiting them to return. They also are the first people to go to lunch and the last ones to return. But a hard worker will return from break early just to get a jump start on the last half of the shift.
In the end I’ve learned that it is no use complaining to the higher up big wigs. Sometimes they turn things around and make sound like I’m not doing my job. I’m letting them ‘get away with it’ but yet I have no authoritative power. I’ve come to the conclusion that most of the bosses are just as lazy as Mr. K and they stick together like a lazy mans workers union. Instead of taking responsibility and whipping them into shape or firing them, the extra work load is simply piled onto the next guy who’s trying to earn his pay.
Tuesday, October 14, 2008
Isearch Why
I chose to search for information on a basement remodel because it is something I plan to do in the future and I need more information before I start diving in. As my family grows larger the free space in the house grows smaller and smaller, I decided something has to change. My wife and I had talked about putting on an addition or even a second story but, once I got to pricing things out I realized just how deeply in debt I would be when the dust had cleared. The idea of a second floor was thrown out first because we would lose some of our already cramped space while it was in process. I would also need to hire a contractor. The addition idea is still being kicked around but at this point financially, it just isn’t practical. Then came the basement idea, cheaper, simpler, and I think I can do it on my own but…
• Roughly, how much will it cost me?
• What do I need to do to the basement before I begin?
• The floor is not perfectly level, how do I fix it and with what?
• Do I need to seal off between the cement and the wood?
• Will I have to buy a special tool to nail into cement?
• How do I lay out a floor plan to accommodate my needs?
Day time lighting, access to drain clean outs, water softener, oil tank, furnace, washer and dryer, etc.
• How will I heat these rooms in the winter?
Can I draw air down into the basement on one end and push it back up on the other?
Will I have to use an electric monitor heater? How much will that cost to run?
• What about wall vents to keep the air moving and not “stagnant” and trapped down there?
• My oldest boy wants his room downstairs, how can his input affect the final results?
• Roughly, how much will it cost me?
• What do I need to do to the basement before I begin?
• The floor is not perfectly level, how do I fix it and with what?
• Do I need to seal off between the cement and the wood?
• Will I have to buy a special tool to nail into cement?
• How do I lay out a floor plan to accommodate my needs?
Day time lighting, access to drain clean outs, water softener, oil tank, furnace, washer and dryer, etc.
• How will I heat these rooms in the winter?
Can I draw air down into the basement on one end and push it back up on the other?
Will I have to use an electric monitor heater? How much will that cost to run?
• What about wall vents to keep the air moving and not “stagnant” and trapped down there?
• My oldest boy wants his room downstairs, how can his input affect the final results?
Isearch What
The first real question that surrounds this project is price. In the end, what will it cost? I know prices vary from lumber yards to the big box stores and that small, local yards often deliver for free. I’m far enough away to know it’s not worth the trouble to ask a big retailer to deliver for free. I know sheet rock and 2x4’s all average around the same price range. If I figure in the gas price to go get cheaper stuff further away I may not be saving any money or time. There is a ton of junk in my way that needs to be moved before I can even start any prep work. I assume that the walls and floor will need to be cleaned before any kind of floor or wall framing can begin. I know my basement floor is not perfectly level and will require some kind of Leveling Compound, although I don’t really know what that is or how to use it. I have heard of using some sort of poly film and pine strapping to seal off between the cement and the soon to be finished rooms. There is also something called mastic. I think mastic is a kind of water barrier that is spread over the exiling cement. I know of some kind of tool made to drive nails into concrete using a blank .22 round but, I don’t have one. How much will one cost?
An exact and final floor layout will be necessary before I even get started. I know there will need to be a utility hallway to access my large chest freezer and water softener. This will also need to have storage space for the bags of water salts. The kitchen sink drain cleanout is over the water softener and I will want to reach it easily if needed. I’m trying to figure out how to accommodate the only window in that area into the main bedroom. It would be good to have a natural day time light source and will also provide ventilation. Another hall will be needed to access the laundry room, storage room, and my workshop area which also contains my oil furnace and oil tank. In the winter, heating the rooms to a comfortable temperature may be a challenge. I have been thinking about floor vents with duct fans to pull air down stairs, at least for the bedroom. Although I question whether or not my new pellet stove can heat the added space without robbing heat from the upstairs. Last spring I purchased a one room, water filled radiator heater on clearance at Wal-Mart. It claims to heat a whole room with no exposed element and at a low energy cost. This will be my first approach but it is still in the box nine months after being bought. I should also install some small wall vents to allow some air movement but the floor plan will decide their location.
The bedroom will be for my oldest son, he is six years old. He is excited about having a new bedroom and wants to add his opinion in the final finish work. He and I were in our local building supply store and he spotted drop ceiling tiles with race cars on them. These are going to a must for his new room. He also wants to pick his own floor but can’t decide between a rug or black and white tiles laid out like a big checker board. Whatever his choices are they are permanent because once it’s done, I’m finished with it.
An exact and final floor layout will be necessary before I even get started. I know there will need to be a utility hallway to access my large chest freezer and water softener. This will also need to have storage space for the bags of water salts. The kitchen sink drain cleanout is over the water softener and I will want to reach it easily if needed. I’m trying to figure out how to accommodate the only window in that area into the main bedroom. It would be good to have a natural day time light source and will also provide ventilation. Another hall will be needed to access the laundry room, storage room, and my workshop area which also contains my oil furnace and oil tank. In the winter, heating the rooms to a comfortable temperature may be a challenge. I have been thinking about floor vents with duct fans to pull air down stairs, at least for the bedroom. Although I question whether or not my new pellet stove can heat the added space without robbing heat from the upstairs. Last spring I purchased a one room, water filled radiator heater on clearance at Wal-Mart. It claims to heat a whole room with no exposed element and at a low energy cost. This will be my first approach but it is still in the box nine months after being bought. I should also install some small wall vents to allow some air movement but the floor plan will decide their location.
The bedroom will be for my oldest son, he is six years old. He is excited about having a new bedroom and wants to add his opinion in the final finish work. He and I were in our local building supply store and he spotted drop ceiling tiles with race cars on them. These are going to a must for his new room. He also wants to pick his own floor but can’t decide between a rug or black and white tiles laid out like a big checker board. Whatever his choices are they are permanent because once it’s done, I’m finished with it.
Wednesday, October 8, 2008
Contrast Essay Intro #2
I work with two different kinds of people. Hard workers are the ones I prefer, and then there are the “eekers” or the lazy ones. Most of the hard workers are from this area and they know what hard work is. They also truly understand the value of a dollar and what it takes to make a few. The lazy ones just do enough to get by, like showing up for work or looking busy when the boss is around. They are defended by lazy bosses in positions of power, sticking together like a lazy man’s workers union. Either way, I’m the person who trains them and it only takes a matter of minutes to label their work ethic.
Contrst Essay Intro #1
In my line of work I encounter all kinds of people. I am the trainer, the one who teaches how it’s done and I have perfected this black art, at least in my own arena. The text book from which I teach is nonexistent. My course is all in my mind somewhere and catered to the individual student. I have been the voice of guidance, and judgment for all that have been set before me, pass or fail. I won’t lie, more have failed to live up to my high expectations than those who have succeeded. But the hand full of people who have passed are more than capable to take over for me when the torch is passed. As for the failures, I’m often the last person they work with within my companies walls. The few failures that eek past me end up in some monotonous job doing the same thing day in and day out. The one thing that keeps them there is that they show up almost every day. The few that can do my job are the hard workers and the ones who can’t compare are the lazy.
Tuesday, October 7, 2008
New and Improved Isearch Background
As a child, I remember my great aunt and uncle’s house being built. They were from Rhode Island and had moved up here to enjoy retirement and to be closer to family. The basement was left unfinished with nothing more than a wood boiler and a work bench for my uncles tinkering. As the years came and went, unfortunately so did my great aunt and uncle. The house was then given to her granddaughter and here small family who quickly took up residence. By the way, this house was not a large one. Sure it had a spacious living room and kitchen but the bed rooms were tiny, like how do you fit a bed and a dresser in there tiny. They quickly got to rearranging things by making the two small bedrooms into one larger one, great for mom and dad but, what about their daughter? She made out best of all with a full, finished apartment in the basement, a teenagers dream come true. Sure, she still lived with her folks but barely. Her own living room, bathroom, and master bed room. There was no kitchen but she didn’t need it anyway, all she had to do was go up stairs and see what mom and dad were eating. The same thing with laundry, go use their washer, and so on.
Recapping on these events now, years later I’ve realized that my current lack of space problem could easily be solved by going down instead of up or sideways like I had original thought. An addition would provide some of the space I need but would also be much more expensive. The price of digging a hole and putting in a frost wall alone would be about the same cost as a basement remodel. By staying in the basement I can increase the floor space of the house by nearly 2/3 at a fraction of the cost. So far it looks like I can build three rooms. One will be a larger bedroom for my oldest son, he is excited about having a bedroom down stairs and wants to take part in designing it. Another room will be a utility room for laundry and our old reliable desktop computer. The final room will be for storage, we have so much junk that we don’t need yet can’t seem to part with. Now I’ll have a place to put it all. Putting rooms in a basement would be a lot less expensive than an addition and with my experience in carpentry could be done by myself. I can also set the pace according to my schedule.
Back in high school I took part in a building construction program offered by the local tech. school. Our teacher was a lifelong carpenter and he knew every last trick in the book. In the class we worked on several different projects including building an addition to a house from the ground up. The knowledge I gained from this particular project will be the most helpful in the basement project because it covers about 90% of the things I’ll need to do. My cousin and I built a camp on the coast a few years back and that was a good refresher of my carpentry skills that I haven’t used since high school. I’ve also done a lot of remodeling in the upstairs portion of the house slowly over the last few years that have involved finish carpentry work and attention to detail. I have all the skill sets I’ll need to do most of the framing and finish work but, still have a lot of unanswered questions.
Recapping on these events now, years later I’ve realized that my current lack of space problem could easily be solved by going down instead of up or sideways like I had original thought. An addition would provide some of the space I need but would also be much more expensive. The price of digging a hole and putting in a frost wall alone would be about the same cost as a basement remodel. By staying in the basement I can increase the floor space of the house by nearly 2/3 at a fraction of the cost. So far it looks like I can build three rooms. One will be a larger bedroom for my oldest son, he is excited about having a bedroom down stairs and wants to take part in designing it. Another room will be a utility room for laundry and our old reliable desktop computer. The final room will be for storage, we have so much junk that we don’t need yet can’t seem to part with. Now I’ll have a place to put it all. Putting rooms in a basement would be a lot less expensive than an addition and with my experience in carpentry could be done by myself. I can also set the pace according to my schedule.
Back in high school I took part in a building construction program offered by the local tech. school. Our teacher was a lifelong carpenter and he knew every last trick in the book. In the class we worked on several different projects including building an addition to a house from the ground up. The knowledge I gained from this particular project will be the most helpful in the basement project because it covers about 90% of the things I’ll need to do. My cousin and I built a camp on the coast a few years back and that was a good refresher of my carpentry skills that I haven’t used since high school. I’ve also done a lot of remodeling in the upstairs portion of the house slowly over the last few years that have involved finish carpentry work and attention to detail. I have all the skill sets I’ll need to do most of the framing and finish work but, still have a lot of unanswered questions.
Monday, October 6, 2008
Isearch Background
As a child, I remember my great aunt and uncle’s house being built. They were from Rhode Island and had moved up here to enjoy retirement and to be closer to family. The basement was left unfinished with nothing more than a wood boiler and a work bench for my uncles tinkering. As the years came and went, unfortunately so did my great aunt and uncle. The house was then given to her granddaughter and here small family who quickly took up residence. By the way, this house was not a large one. Sure it had a spacious living room and kitchen but the bed rooms were tiny, like how do you fit a bed and a dresser in there tiny. They quickly got to rearranging things by making the two small bedrooms into one larger one, great for mom and dad but, what about their daughter? She made out best of all with a full, finished apartment in the basement, a teenagers dream come true. Sure, she still lived with her folks but barely. Her own living room, bathroom, and master bed room. There was no kitchen but she didn’t need it anyway, all she had to do was go up stairs and see what mom and dad were eating. The same thing with laundry, go use their washer, and so on.
Recapping on these events now, years later I’ve realized that my current lack of space problem could easily be solved by going down instead of up or sideways like I had original thought. Putting rooms in a basement would be a lot less expensive than an addition and with my experience in carpentry could be done by myself. I can also set the pace according to my schedule. Back in high school I took part in a building construction program offered by the local tech. school. Our teacher was a lifelong carpenter and he knew every last trick in the book. In the class we worked on several different projects including building an addition to a house from the ground up. The knowledge I gained from this particular project will be the most helpful in the basement project because it covers about 90% of the things I’ll need to do. I have all the skill sets I’ll need to do most of the framing and finish work but, still have a lot of unanswered questions.
Recapping on these events now, years later I’ve realized that my current lack of space problem could easily be solved by going down instead of up or sideways like I had original thought. Putting rooms in a basement would be a lot less expensive than an addition and with my experience in carpentry could be done by myself. I can also set the pace according to my schedule. Back in high school I took part in a building construction program offered by the local tech. school. Our teacher was a lifelong carpenter and he knew every last trick in the book. In the class we worked on several different projects including building an addition to a house from the ground up. The knowledge I gained from this particular project will be the most helpful in the basement project because it covers about 90% of the things I’ll need to do. I have all the skill sets I’ll need to do most of the framing and finish work but, still have a lot of unanswered questions.
Sunday, October 5, 2008
Essay # 2 Classification
About a year or so after I started working second shift, I became interested in getting a concealed firearms permit. In that first year I was nearly killed by a drunk driver on the way home. This guy was all over the road as I approached him, back and forth from shoulder to shoulder. I slowed down as I came closer and his truck started veering into my lane, he was headed right for me. The only way I avoided him was cutting into a long parking lot that ran parallel to the road. He also came into that same empty lot but kept rolling and drove his truck into the ditch behind me. I wasn’t sticking around to watch him fall out of the truck or get angry at his truck for driving into the ditch, instead I left in a hurry. As I continued driving home I got thinking about what if he had hit me? What if he thought it was my fault? What if he had a gun and wanted to shoot me for ‘Running him off the road’? And what about all the other nuts out here on the road at 1 A.M.? I decided then that I didn’t want to be a victim out here. I started looking into getting a concealed carry permit, and found it wasn’t that hard, or expensive to do if you had a clean record. Even if I got the permit though, I didn’t have a gun that could be easily hidden, especially on my 5’10” 145 pound body. My full size 45 ACP 1911 left quite a bulge wherever it was and the idea is to “conceal” it. I started shopping around for a small yet reliable carry sidearm and was rather overwhelmed at the choices out there. I was able to narrow it down into a few categories. The first are small “snub-nosed” revolvers, compact and rugged, and available in a wide range of calibers. Second are the small, all steel semi autos. Heavy but equally as rugged as some of the small framed revolvers out there, however only a small range of calibers to chose from. The third and final practical choice was a small, polymer framed semi auto. They prove to be the most popular among CC permit holders, offering light weight, a wide range of calibers, and potentially lifesaving options such as light rails or even built in laser sights if you’re willing to pay the price.
“Mister Saturday night special”, is what Lynyrd Sknyrd calls it, a small compact revolver commonly chambered in .38 “special”. Truth be told, there are a lot more revolvers out there ideal for concealed carry than you might think. This category statistically proves that most female CC permit holders carry a revolver. They are easy to use, easy to conceal, and one of the most common guns found in your local gun shop. Double action models offer the most versatility with the ability to cock the hammer and aim for better accuracy, or just pull the trigger repeatedly to get a few rounds off. Hammerless models are available and for the most part are snag free but can only be shot double action. Unless you’re a target shooting pro this will throw your accuracy all over the place, in a close range self defense situation though, who cares about accuracy. You just want to hit the guy trying to kill you. If you’re a John Wayne or Clint Eastwood type you could tote around an old Colt Single Action Army, but I’m no cowboy so that’s just not practical to me. I have only heard one complaint about revolvers for concealed carry. If you’re pushed to the ground and have to fire back at an upward angle, the shells can slip backwards out of the chamber and prevent the cylinder from rotating to the next unfired round. That is a rare occurrence but it can happen. If I where to buy a revolver, I would get it in .357 Magnum, mostly because you can shoot .38 specials through it which is much more controllable and it’s a little less intimidating for the shooter.
Next up are the small, all metal semi autos, tried and true, capable of rapid fire and quick reloading. Strong enough so if it were to get stepped on by some big ugly biker guy, it would most likely still work fine. Denting or bending hardened steel in rather tough, after all, a framing hammer isn’t made of polymer. The best examples of a time proven semi auto hand guns are the old .25 & .32 caliber Colt model 1903’s. These firearms average to be one hundred years in age but, with proper maintenance still function beautifully today. I’m not saying the average Glock won’t do this in a hundred years, but they just haven’t been around long enough to know. In 1911, a miracle of sorts happened with John Browning’s famous design which he sold to Colt. A design that would become a staple in American society, the Colt 1911. It had served our troops as a standard issue sidearm in WWII and all other confrontations until its replacement in the early 90’s. It has been the most copied firearm in history, with hundreds of different manufacturers and variations to its original design. One of the newest versions is a compact .45 with a three inch barrel, this gun has been totally redesigned on the inside and is constructed with as fewest moving parts as possible. It is called the Springfield EMP. This one was a key player in my selection process, but the price kept me away.
And last but, certainly not least, are the polymer framed “Tactical” Handguns. These haven’t been around long enough to be truly compared to either of the two listed above. However, they are low priced, and commonly found in most gun shops. They are available with all kinds of goodies like laser sights, high capacity magazines, and tactical rails for flashlights. Not to mention nifty package deals with extra mags and speed loaders, plus a free double clip holster. Goodies and package deals aside, all I see in a nut shell is a bent up piece of sheet metal wrapped in plastic with an old design actually sending the bullet down the barrel. Sure a laser sight would be helpful if you’re dangerous with a firearm and have trouble hitting the target… fire away. A flash light on my handgun? No thanks, I’d rather wave a flag if I wanted to give my position away that easy. Although, I must confess, I did like a nice little Taurus PT145 pro millennium, it was small but it had substantial firepower. It also had simple and easy disassembly for cleaning and was easy to conceal. If I were going to go with a polymer framed gun, this Taurus would have been it.
So what did I go with? After reviewing all the information and hassling some gun dealers to death I picked a nice, nearly new, stainless steel SIG P232. I found it in a small local gun shop for the unbelievably low price of $439 dollars, this firearm new is listed at $840. It had barely ever been fired and had no signs of abuse. It is chambered in380. ACP, which is a fairly cheap and readily available cartridge, it is also available in +P rounds which give it the same ballistics of a nine millimeter Lugar. Being stainless steel it requires minimal cleaning unless it’s fired and even then it doesn’t get that dirty. I can carry it in a leather, high ride holster virtually undetected under a sweatshirt but I still have easy access to it if I need it. And best of all its light, weighing in at just under two pounds with a loaded clip. Now I just hope I never get in a situation where I have to use it, I’d rather have it and not need it than need it and not have it.
“Mister Saturday night special”, is what Lynyrd Sknyrd calls it, a small compact revolver commonly chambered in .38 “special”. Truth be told, there are a lot more revolvers out there ideal for concealed carry than you might think. This category statistically proves that most female CC permit holders carry a revolver. They are easy to use, easy to conceal, and one of the most common guns found in your local gun shop. Double action models offer the most versatility with the ability to cock the hammer and aim for better accuracy, or just pull the trigger repeatedly to get a few rounds off. Hammerless models are available and for the most part are snag free but can only be shot double action. Unless you’re a target shooting pro this will throw your accuracy all over the place, in a close range self defense situation though, who cares about accuracy. You just want to hit the guy trying to kill you. If you’re a John Wayne or Clint Eastwood type you could tote around an old Colt Single Action Army, but I’m no cowboy so that’s just not practical to me. I have only heard one complaint about revolvers for concealed carry. If you’re pushed to the ground and have to fire back at an upward angle, the shells can slip backwards out of the chamber and prevent the cylinder from rotating to the next unfired round. That is a rare occurrence but it can happen. If I where to buy a revolver, I would get it in .357 Magnum, mostly because you can shoot .38 specials through it which is much more controllable and it’s a little less intimidating for the shooter.
Next up are the small, all metal semi autos, tried and true, capable of rapid fire and quick reloading. Strong enough so if it were to get stepped on by some big ugly biker guy, it would most likely still work fine. Denting or bending hardened steel in rather tough, after all, a framing hammer isn’t made of polymer. The best examples of a time proven semi auto hand guns are the old .25 & .32 caliber Colt model 1903’s. These firearms average to be one hundred years in age but, with proper maintenance still function beautifully today. I’m not saying the average Glock won’t do this in a hundred years, but they just haven’t been around long enough to know. In 1911, a miracle of sorts happened with John Browning’s famous design which he sold to Colt. A design that would become a staple in American society, the Colt 1911. It had served our troops as a standard issue sidearm in WWII and all other confrontations until its replacement in the early 90’s. It has been the most copied firearm in history, with hundreds of different manufacturers and variations to its original design. One of the newest versions is a compact .45 with a three inch barrel, this gun has been totally redesigned on the inside and is constructed with as fewest moving parts as possible. It is called the Springfield EMP. This one was a key player in my selection process, but the price kept me away.
And last but, certainly not least, are the polymer framed “Tactical” Handguns. These haven’t been around long enough to be truly compared to either of the two listed above. However, they are low priced, and commonly found in most gun shops. They are available with all kinds of goodies like laser sights, high capacity magazines, and tactical rails for flashlights. Not to mention nifty package deals with extra mags and speed loaders, plus a free double clip holster. Goodies and package deals aside, all I see in a nut shell is a bent up piece of sheet metal wrapped in plastic with an old design actually sending the bullet down the barrel. Sure a laser sight would be helpful if you’re dangerous with a firearm and have trouble hitting the target… fire away. A flash light on my handgun? No thanks, I’d rather wave a flag if I wanted to give my position away that easy. Although, I must confess, I did like a nice little Taurus PT145 pro millennium, it was small but it had substantial firepower. It also had simple and easy disassembly for cleaning and was easy to conceal. If I were going to go with a polymer framed gun, this Taurus would have been it.
So what did I go with? After reviewing all the information and hassling some gun dealers to death I picked a nice, nearly new, stainless steel SIG P232. I found it in a small local gun shop for the unbelievably low price of $439 dollars, this firearm new is listed at $840. It had barely ever been fired and had no signs of abuse. It is chambered in380. ACP, which is a fairly cheap and readily available cartridge, it is also available in +P rounds which give it the same ballistics of a nine millimeter Lugar. Being stainless steel it requires minimal cleaning unless it’s fired and even then it doesn’t get that dirty. I can carry it in a leather, high ride holster virtually undetected under a sweatshirt but I still have easy access to it if I need it. And best of all its light, weighing in at just under two pounds with a loaded clip. Now I just hope I never get in a situation where I have to use it, I’d rather have it and not need it than need it and not have it.
Wednesday, October 1, 2008
Classification Outro
So what did I go with? After reviewing all the information and hassling some gun dealers to death I picked a nice, nearly new, stainless steel SIG P232. I found it in a small local gun shop for the unbelievably low price of $439 dollars, this firearm new is listed at $840. It had barely ever been fired and had no signs of abuse. It is chambered in380. ACP, which is a fairly cheap and readily available cartridge, it is also available in +P rounds which give it the same ballistics of a nine millimeter Lugar. Being stainless steel it requires minimal cleaning unless it’s fired and even then it doesn’t get that dirty. I can carry it in a leather, high ride holster virtually undetected under a sweatshirt but I still have easy access to it if I need it. And best of all its light, weighing in at just under two pounds with a loaded clip. Now I just hope I never get in a situation where I have to use it, I’d rather have it and not need it than need it and not have it.
Tuesday, September 30, 2008
Classification Intro #2
I’ve been on the night shift for over five years now, I don’t mind the hours at all aside from driving home over thirty miles at 12 A.M. or later. I have had my share of close calls on some of those nights though. Speed racers flying along at ninety miles per hour nearly sending you into the ditch as they cut you off or jumping the shit out of you cause you didn’t see them coming. Thursdays and Fridays seem to be the worst for drunk drivers, they are easy to pick out once you’ve followed one a few times. I was nearly killed by one of them once or twice, one particular time comes to mind. Just another ride home and some drunken asshole coming the other way must have fallen asleep (passed out) behind the wheel. His truck started veering into my lane, and he was headed right for me. The only way I avoided him was cutting into a long parking lot that ran parallel to the road. He also came into that same empty lot but kept rolling and drove his truck into the ditch behind me. I didn’t stick around. I started thinking there are way too many nuts out here to be doing this every day un-protected. That’s when I started looking into getting a concealed weapons permit. One small (or large) problem was I didn’t have a gun that could be easily hidden, especially on my 5’10” 145 pound body. My full size 45 ACP 1911 left quite a bulge wherever it was and the idea is to “conceal” it. I started shopping around for a small yet reliable carry sidearm and was rather overwhelmed at the choices out there. I was able to narrow it down into a few categories. The first are small “snub-nosed” revolvers, compact and rugged, and available in a wide range of calibers. Second are the small, all steel semi autos. They are heavy but equally as rugged as some of the small framed revolvers out there, however only a small range of calibers to chose from. The third and final practical choice was a small, polymer framed semi auto. They prove to be the most popular among concealed carry permit holders, offering light weight, a wide range of calibers, and potentially lifesaving options such as light rails or even built in laser sights if you’re willing to pay the price.
Classification Intro #1
About a year or so after I started working second shift, I became interested in getting a concealed firearms permit. In that first year I was nearly killed by a drunk driver on the way home. This guy was all over the road as I approached him, back and forth from shoulder to shoulder. I slowed down as I came closer and his truck started veering into my lane, he was headed right for me. The only way I avoided him was cutting into a long parking lot that ran parallel to the road. He also came into that same empty lot but kept rolling and drove his truck into the ditch behind me. I wasn’t sticking around to watch him fall out of the truck or get angry at his truck for driving into the ditch, instead I left in a hurry. As I continued driving home I got thinking about what if he had hit me? What if he thought it was my fault? What if he had a gun and wanted to shoot me for ‘Running him off the road’? And what about all the other nuts out here on the road at 1 A.M.? I decided then that I didn’t want to be a victim out here. I started looking into getting a concealed carry permit, and found it wasn’t that hard, or expensive to do if you had a clean record. Even if I got the permit though, I didn’t have a gun that could be easily hidden, especially on my 5’10” 145 pound body. My full size 45 ACP 1911 left quite a bulge wherever it was and the idea is to “conceal” it. I started shopping around for a small yet reliable carry sidearm and was rather overwhelmed at the choices out there. I was able to narrow it down into a few categories. The first are small “snub-nosed” revolvers, compact and rugged, and available in a wide range of calibers. Second are the small, all steel semi autos. Heavy but equally as rugged as some of the small framed revolvers out there, however only a small range of calibers to chose from. The third and final practical choice was a small, polymer framed semi auto. They prove to be the most popular among CC permit holders, offering light weight, a wide range of calibers, and potentially lifesaving options such as light rails or even built in laser sights if you’re willing to pay the price.
Sunday, September 28, 2008
Graf#9. Metagraf
I decided to write about the pellet stove because it has been on my mind lately. I just installed two of them last weekend and I’m still working the bugs out. I was mad as hell the first time I turned mine on. A heat shield inside was not hooked up right and every time the auger motor turned on it made a horrible racket. I fixed that by taking it out, bending it to the correct shape, and putting it back in with some high temp silicone around it to deaden the sound. It is quiet now. The four tons of pellets I bought suck even though they say premium on the bag. They smolder and smoke, plus they don’t through the heat like some of the other good hardwood pellets do. No use bitchin’ about them though, after all I’m stuck with them, and they do burn.
Cause Essay
I recently purchased a wood pellet stove, if you go out and try to buy one today, most likely it’s not showing up until next spring. So many people are looking for alternatives because the markets are so volatile. If you walk into any shop that sells pellet stoves there is always a crowd of people standing around staring at them, this includes home depot too. I noticed it to be more difficult to get a clerk’s attention if you weren’t asking about a stove, and that was at my local lumber yard. I too became one of those people mindlessly gazing at them, thinking where I could put it, and that I could save money this winter. I’ve got oil fired forced hot water heat in my house and after last winter I decided that I wasn’t going to go broke over heating oil. A pellet stove was the answer, I still have to use oil to heat my hot water for now but if I can lower my heating bill I’ll be happy. The main reason for going with a pellet stove was cost, even though I’ve invested nearly the total of last year’s oil bill in this project. Second was the ease of use, I grew up with wood heat and spent my time cutting, splitting, and stacking, with pellets I just open the bag and pour them in. Third was safety, I have curious little fingers wandering around my house and most pellet stoves are slightly warm to the touch. As I learned when I was a kid, you only touch a hot wood stove once.
A cheap and effective way to heat the house this winter had been on my mind since last winter. I was really struggling to stay warm and keep gas in my tank. Going to the grocery store would use half of the funds after oil. I wasn’t going to be in that position again. Record high gas, heating oil prices, and a drive nearly seventy miles to work and back every day didn’t help at all either. I knew that gas and oil would most likely not be cheaper in the upcoming winter so I started shopping around. I found a nice pellet stove, a Harman Advance, this stove has all kinds of bells and whistles that I probably don’t need but wanted anyway. It wasn’t cheep listing at $3’200, over half of last year’s oil expense, but I bought it anyway. The stove is a onetime expense, it will sit in my living room for ever as far as I’m concerned and all I have to do is buy pellets. Pellets average around $250 a ton for standard pellets. Availability is the only problem with pellets now. Fortunately, several new pellet plants are opening up in central Maine and I already have four tons sitting in my garage.
I also have no room for my car in the garage due to four tons of pellets standing in its place. I’d rather deal with that though than work on splitting nine or more cord right around now. Carrying in a forty pound bag every day is fine. Not loading the furnace before bed and raking coals first thing in the morning is fine too. I have to be honest though, I haven’t dealt with that in three years. My wood furnace and oil furnace both went through the same flue and I had to take out the wood furnace for insurance reasons. I am still insured to burn wood and this new stove has its own separate flue so I’m all set. Cleaning the new stove is a breeze too. Every other day all I need to do is shut it down for a half an hour, plug in the shopvac, and give it a good once over. After a ton of pellets I pull out the heat exchangers and clean them also. Supposedly you can burn a ton of pellets in the Advance without emptying the ash pan, I don’t believe it but maybe I’ll be proved wrong.
I installed it myself, which was quite the learning experience. I learned, because my house is a pre-fabricated, there are two half inch sheets of plywood, spaced an inch apart in the wall running down the middle of my house. Getting through them proved to be interesting. Once I was through though, hooking up the double wall vent pipe was easy. I’ve only run the stove a few times, and most of that was testing it out. When it was running though, my nine month old boy Ryan was wide eyed looking at it. I think he likes watching the fire dance around inside. I could tell all he wanted to do was go over and pull himself up on it. The glass on the front gets pretty hot but not bad enough to bun yourself, not unless you held your hand there for five seconds or so. Even when it’s not on and he’s headed for it, my wife and tell him “That’s a no no!!”. He just smiles a big happy grin and keeps on going. I hope he has learned not to touch buy the time I have it running full blast.
At the very least, I know I’m doing my part to keep some of my spent money here in the U.S. I already send enough money to the Saudi’s at the gas pump. Even if I’ve spent more than I can afford on this whole project I can sleep easier knowing that the money I spent on the stove went to the people who manufactured it in Pennsylvania. The pellets that I bought were made right here in Maine, and I saved a bunch of cash doing a lot of it myself. My back may be sore but, it’s not from splitting wood.
A cheap and effective way to heat the house this winter had been on my mind since last winter. I was really struggling to stay warm and keep gas in my tank. Going to the grocery store would use half of the funds after oil. I wasn’t going to be in that position again. Record high gas, heating oil prices, and a drive nearly seventy miles to work and back every day didn’t help at all either. I knew that gas and oil would most likely not be cheaper in the upcoming winter so I started shopping around. I found a nice pellet stove, a Harman Advance, this stove has all kinds of bells and whistles that I probably don’t need but wanted anyway. It wasn’t cheep listing at $3’200, over half of last year’s oil expense, but I bought it anyway. The stove is a onetime expense, it will sit in my living room for ever as far as I’m concerned and all I have to do is buy pellets. Pellets average around $250 a ton for standard pellets. Availability is the only problem with pellets now. Fortunately, several new pellet plants are opening up in central Maine and I already have four tons sitting in my garage.
I also have no room for my car in the garage due to four tons of pellets standing in its place. I’d rather deal with that though than work on splitting nine or more cord right around now. Carrying in a forty pound bag every day is fine. Not loading the furnace before bed and raking coals first thing in the morning is fine too. I have to be honest though, I haven’t dealt with that in three years. My wood furnace and oil furnace both went through the same flue and I had to take out the wood furnace for insurance reasons. I am still insured to burn wood and this new stove has its own separate flue so I’m all set. Cleaning the new stove is a breeze too. Every other day all I need to do is shut it down for a half an hour, plug in the shopvac, and give it a good once over. After a ton of pellets I pull out the heat exchangers and clean them also. Supposedly you can burn a ton of pellets in the Advance without emptying the ash pan, I don’t believe it but maybe I’ll be proved wrong.
I installed it myself, which was quite the learning experience. I learned, because my house is a pre-fabricated, there are two half inch sheets of plywood, spaced an inch apart in the wall running down the middle of my house. Getting through them proved to be interesting. Once I was through though, hooking up the double wall vent pipe was easy. I’ve only run the stove a few times, and most of that was testing it out. When it was running though, my nine month old boy Ryan was wide eyed looking at it. I think he likes watching the fire dance around inside. I could tell all he wanted to do was go over and pull himself up on it. The glass on the front gets pretty hot but not bad enough to bun yourself, not unless you held your hand there for five seconds or so. Even when it’s not on and he’s headed for it, my wife and tell him “That’s a no no!!”. He just smiles a big happy grin and keeps on going. I hope he has learned not to touch buy the time I have it running full blast.
At the very least, I know I’m doing my part to keep some of my spent money here in the U.S. I already send enough money to the Saudi’s at the gas pump. Even if I’ve spent more than I can afford on this whole project I can sleep easier knowing that the money I spent on the stove went to the people who manufactured it in Pennsylvania. The pellets that I bought were made right here in Maine, and I saved a bunch of cash doing a lot of it myself. My back may be sore but, it’s not from splitting wood.
Thursday, September 25, 2008
Cause Outro
At the very least, I know I’m doing my part to keep some of my spent money here in the U.S. I already send enough money to the Saudi’s at the gas pump. Even if I’ve spent more than I can afford on this whole project I can sleep easier knowing that the money I spent on the stove went to the people who manufactured it in Pennsylvania. The pellets that I bought were made right here in Maine, and I saved a bunch of cash doing a lot of it myself. My back may be sore but, it’s not from splitting wood.
Wednesday, September 24, 2008
Intro 2
I recently purchased a wood pellet stove, if you go out and try to buy one today, most likely it’s not showing up until next spring. So many people are looking for alternatives because the markets are so volatile. If you walk into any shop that sells pellet stoves there is always a crowd of people standing around staring at them, this includes home depot too. I noticed it to be more difficult to get a clerk’s attention if you weren’t asking about a stove, and that was at my local lumber yard. I too became one of those people mindlessly gazing at them, thinking where I could put it, and that I could save money this winter. I’ve got oil fired forced hot water heat in my house and after last winter I decided that I wasn’t going to go broke over heating oil. A pellet stove was the answer, I still have to use oil to heat my hot water for now but if I can lower my heating bill I’ll be happy. The main reason for going with a pellet stove was cost, even though I’ve invested nearly the total of last year’s oil bill in this project. The stove is a onetime expense, and pellets average around $250 a ton for standard pellets. Availability is the only problem with pellets now. Second was the ease of use, I grew up with wood heat and spent my time cutting, splitting, and stacking, with pellets I just open the bag and pour them in. I also have no room for my car in the garage due to four tons of pellets standing in its place. Third was safety, I have curious little fingers wandering around my house and most pellet stoves are slightly warm to the touch. The baby is already interested in the pellet stove, he likes watching the fire dance around inside. As I learned when I was a kid, you only touch a hot wood stove once.
Monday, September 22, 2008
Intro 1
I recently purchased a wood pellet stove, if you go out and try to buy one today, most likely it’s not showing up until next spring. So many people are looking for alternatives because the markets are so volatile. I’ve got oil fired forced hot water heat in my house and after last winter I decided that I wasn’t going to go broke over heating oil. The pellet stove was the answer, I still have to use oil to heat my hot water for now but if it lowers my heating bill I’ll be happy. My main reason for going with a pellet stove was cost, even though I’ve invested nearly the total of last year’s oil bill in this project. Second was the ease of use, I grew up with wood heat and spent my time cutting, splitting, and stacking, with pellets I just open the bag and pour them in. And third was safety, I have curious little fingers wandering around my house and most pellet stoves are slightly warm to the touch. As I learned when I was a kid, you only touch a hot wood stove once.
Sunday, September 21, 2008
Graf#8 re-write
After reading a few of the sample cause essays, I have to say the Red Sox one is the best in my opinion. Very good description of Boston and the Fenway experience. I love how the author refers to the rivalry with the Yankees and some of the Sox’s big mistakes, tracing it all back to Babe Ruth. I remember watching the ball roll between Buckner’s legs and then my grandfather yelling at the television. He waited all his life to see the Sox’s win a World Series and it never happened in his lifetime. At least I’ve seen it happen, even if I never see it again I know I’m more fortunate than some.
Friday, September 19, 2008
Graf#8
Interesting… I think I’ll attack this one head on and go on about my love of firearms. With the arrival of autumn my favorite targets are growing all over, pumpkins. After all, living out here in the sticks guns play a prominent role. Right off I’ll tell you I’m a proud NRA member, a concealed firearms permit holder, and a defender of the second amendment of the constitution. All of the biased liberals out there will tell you (and anyone else that will listen), that a handgun serves no role in society other than killing people. Not true, behind that gun is a person, they may be someone defending their family, or they may be a nut case with nothing else in mind other than killing the innocent. I’ll be the one defending, I hope that day never comes but if it does, at the least I know that I will be prepared.
Thursday, September 11, 2008
Graf#7
A few years ago at work I had an itch, not just any itch, one that I just couldn’t scratch. His name was Ben, a complete idiot who just wouldn’t listen to me. I was supposed to be training him. That meant my ass was on the line for his performance. I’m sorry but you can’t train stupid, and that is exactly what he was. Arrogant, completely oblivious to anything I had to say, which didn’t matter because he knew it all anyway. After his first few days of training he should have been all set to go. “Now Ben, if you have any problems, any what so ever, call me over and we’ll work through it together”, I said. Maybe a half hour later I hear his call bell ring, I’m trained (like a good dog) to come running over when I hear it and see what the problem is. When I arrive, all that is left are shattered remains off what used to be a thousand bucks worth of carbon drills, and this idiot saying “huh huh, I guess I hit the wrong button.” This is now my problem and I’m supposed to explain it. Plain and simple, he hit the wrong button. I went to my boss, told him what happened, and also said that if Ben wasn’t going to listen to me that I didn’t want him in my area. My boss went straight over, investigated the situation, and immediately decided the only place this guy was going in the company was the exit, which he was promptly escorted to. I had no intent to get him fired, I simply didn’t want to be responsible for him. Although I will admit, I’m glad he is not still there destroying things and making my life more difficult. I never did scratch that itch, instead someone else did it for me.
Graf#6
It took me a while to come up with this topic. I kept thinking about this paper from the wrong angle, not incorporating “I” into it. Years back when I was in High school, My English teacher for the last two years was one of those “NEVER USE I” types. After being brainwashed to think that way it was tuff to break away from it. I finally came up with the basement project because it has been a thought in the back of my mind recently and I have nothing more than ideas to go by. I think this will help me when the time comes to do it in the spring of 09’. What do think?, good or at least worthwhile topic?
Monday, September 8, 2008
Graf#5 my home
Sometimes, if I sit at my kitchen table and close my eyes, I still can see what it looked like in here twenty or more years ago. This is my grandparent’s house, but I live here now, along with my wife and two children. It’s still there house though, at least I’ll always think of it that way, I spent a lot of time here as a kid, mostly on the weekends, playing with my grandmother. I called her Nanny. I always did, something my mother started I assume. We would always have fun. Sometimes we would dig out old curtains and string them across doorways. I remember making what is now my bedroom into a curtain maze with a little of Grampy’s old fishing line. If you walk down my basement stairs to your left is an old shelf made out of pine boards and 2x4’s, my grandfather built it. On it there is a piece of wood tacked up that reads “ONLY OPEN ON MONDAYS (next line) THE SHOP AHEAD (next line) THE ONE YOU SEE. It is in her hand writing. We used to rig up the basement too. When I was a kid it was one of my favorite pass times to come over here, Nanny and I always had something to do. I lived next door; I can see the house I grew up in anytime I look out the window.
They were simple people, farmers that came up to Maine from Rhode Island when it was starting to get over run with new people. Long before I came around, my parents lived in the house next door. This house went up for sale, my grandparents bought it, and moved up here and immediately started farming the surrounding fields. I remember being awakened at 5:00 A.M. to the sound of the old Bolens yard tractor. I’d look out the window and see my poor old grandmother weeding, hunched over from years of gardening, working away with a hoe. Gramp would be right there with her weeding and driving along as they made their way across the garden. They made their living off hard work, everything they grew they sold at their road side stand. Down in the basement are some of the old signs, POTATOES 50#’s $4.00. Another is a big strawberry that reads “Spencer’s” across it, my mother made both signs for them. Now they sit tucked away, covered in dust. My grandparents are both long gone, lost to cancer. When I get to thinking about them sometimes memories come flooding back and something as simple as closing my eyes sends me right back in time. When I open them, I’ll back in my kitchen with nothing more than faint traces to remind me.
They were simple people, farmers that came up to Maine from Rhode Island when it was starting to get over run with new people. Long before I came around, my parents lived in the house next door. This house went up for sale, my grandparents bought it, and moved up here and immediately started farming the surrounding fields. I remember being awakened at 5:00 A.M. to the sound of the old Bolens yard tractor. I’d look out the window and see my poor old grandmother weeding, hunched over from years of gardening, working away with a hoe. Gramp would be right there with her weeding and driving along as they made their way across the garden. They made their living off hard work, everything they grew they sold at their road side stand. Down in the basement are some of the old signs, POTATOES 50#’s $4.00. Another is a big strawberry that reads “Spencer’s” across it, my mother made both signs for them. Now they sit tucked away, covered in dust. My grandparents are both long gone, lost to cancer. When I get to thinking about them sometimes memories come flooding back and something as simple as closing my eyes sends me right back in time. When I open them, I’ll back in my kitchen with nothing more than faint traces to remind me.
Friday, September 5, 2008
Graf#4
I can tell you right now, I am one of the world’s worst procrastinators. I have my house as example A. Never ending piles of crap tucked away and out of sight, you never know what you’ll find hidden in the darkest corners. I tell myself “You need to take care of that”, every time I glance in that direction, but there it sits, untouched and awaiting attention.
I don’t know where I got his terrible affliction; my folks are some of the most organized people you could ever meet. Without any thought at all, they could point you in the exact direction of something and either one of them would be right at any time. Instead, look at my workbench in the basement, example B, I had thought of using that for the inventory assignment but figured I didn’t want to spend a week on it. I have to constantly remind myself to do things. It’s easy for me to forget about stuff though; my job and home life keep me very busy.
Spending time with my family is my favorite thing to do, even though I don’t do it enough. I work in the evenings (3:00-11:00PM) so I don’t see much of my oldest boy during the week, he’s in school. On the weekends we try to do as much as possible together but lately I’ve been working on the house when I’m not at work. Every summer we go on vacation for at least a few days but not this year, no this year it was a “staycation” filled with home improvement projects. Not having our usual little getaway has really increased stress around here.
As far as what makes me unique, that’s a good question. I’m sure there are thousands if not millions of people out there that can fit what’s listed above. Maybe what sets me apart from the rest is my constant over thinking. I spend more time thinking about how to do something than actually doing it. This Graf is a perfect example; I’m breaking the rules and thinking, not writing. The judge in my mind is being ever so critical of every last word but I can’t get it to stop. I think acknowledging this problem may be what sets me apart.
I don’t know where I got his terrible affliction; my folks are some of the most organized people you could ever meet. Without any thought at all, they could point you in the exact direction of something and either one of them would be right at any time. Instead, look at my workbench in the basement, example B, I had thought of using that for the inventory assignment but figured I didn’t want to spend a week on it. I have to constantly remind myself to do things. It’s easy for me to forget about stuff though; my job and home life keep me very busy.
Spending time with my family is my favorite thing to do, even though I don’t do it enough. I work in the evenings (3:00-11:00PM) so I don’t see much of my oldest boy during the week, he’s in school. On the weekends we try to do as much as possible together but lately I’ve been working on the house when I’m not at work. Every summer we go on vacation for at least a few days but not this year, no this year it was a “staycation” filled with home improvement projects. Not having our usual little getaway has really increased stress around here.
As far as what makes me unique, that’s a good question. I’m sure there are thousands if not millions of people out there that can fit what’s listed above. Maybe what sets me apart from the rest is my constant over thinking. I spend more time thinking about how to do something than actually doing it. This Graf is a perfect example; I’m breaking the rules and thinking, not writing. The judge in my mind is being ever so critical of every last word but I can’t get it to stop. I think acknowledging this problem may be what sets me apart.
Wednesday, September 3, 2008
graf#3
This is an inventory of the west wall of the kitchen/dining room. Everything is on the floor and piled between two doorways. Moving from the south end, (where I’m sitting) toward the north.
A Craftsman 18V drill and flashlight set in a black case.
A Crescent tool set that was given to me by my employer three years ago for x-mas.
A new, 44 Qt. flip top trash can that is full of new switches and outlets, not trash.
An old Wal-Mart bag full of new and used outlets.
A baby’s toy with different beads on rails to push around.
A baby’s toy piano that only plays four notes.
A car seat made for a child up to one year old.
Sitting in the car seat is a package of cheap size four diapers.
A large stuffed tigger from Winnie the pooh.
A”busy box” complete with pop-up animals.
A stand up walker for learning one foot in front of the other.
A Ridged 3.5 HP shop vacuum.
On top of the shopvac is a pair of rubber reinforced knee pads.
The people that live in this house are either very busy or very lazy, maybe both. Kids obviously tie up most of their time along with never-ending home improvement projects. Why would he have old power outlets mixed in with baby toys? How easy would it be for the baby to get one confused with a rattle? The next thing you know it’s in his mouth, not a good combination. Put the shopvac away, you’re not even using it any more, remember to clean it out first. Use the trash can for its intended purpose, trash, not new stuff that you’re going to use. He’ll probably open it up and find old banana peels mixed in with the switches, yummy. Bottom line, take care of your crap before you’re wife does or else it will never be found again.
A Craftsman 18V drill and flashlight set in a black case.
A Crescent tool set that was given to me by my employer three years ago for x-mas.
A new, 44 Qt. flip top trash can that is full of new switches and outlets, not trash.
An old Wal-Mart bag full of new and used outlets.
A baby’s toy with different beads on rails to push around.
A baby’s toy piano that only plays four notes.
A car seat made for a child up to one year old.
Sitting in the car seat is a package of cheap size four diapers.
A large stuffed tigger from Winnie the pooh.
A”busy box” complete with pop-up animals.
A stand up walker for learning one foot in front of the other.
A Ridged 3.5 HP shop vacuum.
On top of the shopvac is a pair of rubber reinforced knee pads.
The people that live in this house are either very busy or very lazy, maybe both. Kids obviously tie up most of their time along with never-ending home improvement projects. Why would he have old power outlets mixed in with baby toys? How easy would it be for the baby to get one confused with a rattle? The next thing you know it’s in his mouth, not a good combination. Put the shopvac away, you’re not even using it any more, remember to clean it out first. Use the trash can for its intended purpose, trash, not new stuff that you’re going to use. He’ll probably open it up and find old banana peels mixed in with the switches, yummy. Bottom line, take care of your crap before you’re wife does or else it will never be found again.
Friday, August 29, 2008
graf#2
The worst teacher…
By far, the worst teacher I ever had was my seventh grade math teacher. Algebra, none of us in the class had ever done any of it. The most we knew how to do was long division, that was the furthest we got in sixth grade, aside from a little bit of fraction work. Our teacher knew that we didn’t have a clue and decided to pick me as the class guinea pig to start off the year with. The first day of class he put up on the marker board some crazy equation that I had never even seen before, or anyone else for that matter. Of course he picks me to go up in front of the class and try to solve this thing, absolutely clueless. I get up and find my place at the white board, grab a marker and give the board a blank stare, he say’s “Well come on, don’t ya know what your doin’”? At that time in my life I didn’t do the greatest in front of group of people, even though they were just as lost as I was. I panicked, quickly set the marker down and hurried back to my desk; I kept my mouth shut the rest of the day. We didn’t learn anything that day, just reviewed what the course was about.
From that day on, he didn’t refer to me as Tom, no it was Toooom. Very stretched out, as if to mock my stupidity. After a few weeks, my singled out experiences seemed to pass. He would pick on other students who didn’t have a clue what they were doing either, I’m sure they felt just as dumb as I did. None of us really learned much from his class, we all went on into eighth grade just as lost as we were when we started seventh grade.
After that I never liked doing math, it’s still my worst subject. It seems like that first day of seventh grade made me lose all interest in it, kind of ironic because my job requires a lot of it. By the way, that teacher was fired two years later for grabbing a student by the back of the head and slamming his face off the desk.
By far, the worst teacher I ever had was my seventh grade math teacher. Algebra, none of us in the class had ever done any of it. The most we knew how to do was long division, that was the furthest we got in sixth grade, aside from a little bit of fraction work. Our teacher knew that we didn’t have a clue and decided to pick me as the class guinea pig to start off the year with. The first day of class he put up on the marker board some crazy equation that I had never even seen before, or anyone else for that matter. Of course he picks me to go up in front of the class and try to solve this thing, absolutely clueless. I get up and find my place at the white board, grab a marker and give the board a blank stare, he say’s “Well come on, don’t ya know what your doin’”? At that time in my life I didn’t do the greatest in front of group of people, even though they were just as lost as I was. I panicked, quickly set the marker down and hurried back to my desk; I kept my mouth shut the rest of the day. We didn’t learn anything that day, just reviewed what the course was about.
From that day on, he didn’t refer to me as Tom, no it was Toooom. Very stretched out, as if to mock my stupidity. After a few weeks, my singled out experiences seemed to pass. He would pick on other students who didn’t have a clue what they were doing either, I’m sure they felt just as dumb as I did. None of us really learned much from his class, we all went on into eighth grade just as lost as we were when we started seventh grade.
After that I never liked doing math, it’s still my worst subject. It seems like that first day of seventh grade made me lose all interest in it, kind of ironic because my job requires a lot of it. By the way, that teacher was fired two years later for grabbing a student by the back of the head and slamming his face off the desk.
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