Archive for the ‘Stories’ Category

’96 Subaru Legacy Outback Head Gasket

Thursday, April 24th, 2008

Monday I built the frame.  96USD in lumber and miscellany from Home Depot.   I also rolled my ankle quite badly.  This makes little things like dance … or running … or walking … quite difficult.

Tuesday, I took lots of accessories off.  Many pieces everywhere.

Wednesday, I had a meeting with an important client all morning.  I also took the intake manifold off (with some much-appreciated help with tagging the multitudinous mass of wires).

Thursday, after hitting the exhaust flange bolts with WD-40 and PB Blaster all day, THEY CAME OUT!  Holy God am I happy about that.

Unfortunately, I feel like I am falling forward into my laptop screen, probably from smelly PB Blaster fumes.

Shawnee Peak

Friday, February 8th, 2008

It’s cold.

I just got off the lift. Looking down the long slope to the bottom…it’s steep, and icey. My skis are new, and have a scarily large turning radius compared to the old rentals.

I’m in a t-shirt.

She told me, quite firmly, to stay away from the top of the mountain. Of course I go up anyway, seeing the one blue trail on the map. She doesn’t want to watch. “And please don’t die.”

Well at least I know how to wedge turn.

Sort of.

It doesn’t really work all that well on steep ice.

This is bumpy, ungroomed, very hard ice. My skis barely cut into it. I fall, and fall again. My elbows hurt. Skin on ice isn’t much fun. It’s a long way down before I start hitting warmer snow. I’m scared, and the occasional profanity comes out a little higher-pitched than I intended.

It’s windy, too.

I could practically walk down the mountain faster. Back and forth, wedge, sit down. Stand up, fall. Stand up, wedge, wedge, wedge, sit down, try to stop.  The light is starting to fade.

I don’t have ski poles.

Third time I’ve ever strapped on a pair of alpine skis. I’m so fucking brilliant I can’t hardly stand it.

It took me a while, but I got down that mountain all by myself. Stupid boy. It was fun, but next time I’ll put something over the t-shirt.

(Note to self: whenever encountering older lifts, check the seats for grease before sitting!)

Danger, Take 2

Wednesday, November 28th, 2007

It’s dark, and I’m tired. Dance class was long and exhausting, and I need to pick up food. The local Shaw’s in Raynham tends towards decent prices and selection, so I stop for a few minutes.

I leave the store with my bags in my left hand, my car key in my right. Just as I’m about to unlock my car, I make one last check around the parking lot. I’ve been checking perimeters before unlocking my car for seven years. Tonight, someone is approaching.

He’s perhaps 40 feet away, cleanly dressed, walking steadily with a black messenger bag under one arm. I watch him approach, and when he’s about 15 feet away, I put my hand out.

“Sir! Please STOP NOW!”

I’m backing away around my car in order to keep distance. There’s a line around me, if he crosses that line, I will hit him. Cross the line, wake up in the hospital. I bump into a shopping cart, but I have plenty of space.

He stops.

He’s a Japanese panhandler, selling cheap jewelry. He barely speaks English, but is very respectful. When I decline his offers, he bids me goodnight and leaves.

Mistake #1: Not remembering the shopping cart (tunnel vision).

I am very happy with how this played out. My heart rate didn’t even climb much. I was in perfect control of the entire situation, ready to apply force if he came within striking range. It was very much like the old training; watching, quiet, ready. Waiting for him to come to me.

My brother’s comment? “At 10 o’clock at night, you don’t have to say ‘please.’”

Danger

Wednesday, November 14th, 2007

It’s dark, and I’m scared.

I see him approach from across the parking lot. He seems to be alone, but the nearby cars and buildings could hide twenty people and I’d never know. A few people are moving in the neighborhood, in the shadows, but he’s heading right for me.

My car is stopped. The tire is almost replaced, but I need just a few more seconds.

The car jack is in my hand. I hold it by my side. My heart is pounding.

I’m on the phone. “Please stay on the line, I might have a problem here.”

I can smell him coming. Alcohol, and rank poverty. He’s about my size, perhaps a little heavier, dressed in a dirty white hoodie and street pants.

“Hey man…you got a light?”

I had been driving home through Providence, down North Main Street. Not the best of neighborhoods, especially at this time of night, but it seemed quiet enough.

Quiet enough until a drunk in a big Mercedes almost ran me off the road. I blew out my left front tire jumping the curb trying to get away from him. He sat there, grinning at me, until I pulled away. My car was pulling hard, and I could hear the harsh rumble of the rim almost directly on pavement.

There were two police cruisers just up the street, and an ambulance and a fire truck. I pulled into the parking lot, and asked them if they were going to be there for a few minutes because I needed to change my tire.

“Knock yourself out, we’ll be here.”

Three minutes later, with my car jacked up and the tire off, they all drove off.

Then someone turned the parking lot lights off.

I work fast, but it’s not fast enough.

“Hey man…you got a light?”

I step away from him, and he stands by my car’s driver door. I’ve locked the car, but he could break the window in an instant.

Fifteen minutes of going back and forth. I’m trying to figure out how to get rid of him before more show up.

“Hey you like the taste of rubber?”

“That is not a question I answer.”

“Hey man, you ever been to prison?”

“No, I have never been to prison.”

“You ever been raped?”

Am I going to have to kill this creep?

I’m watching all around me. I’ve managed to get everything put away, and now I just need to get rid of this asshole before he tries to hurt me or my car.

Suddenly, two people approach from the same direction. He obviously recognizes them. I start moving to the street. I’d rather run than die.

They are not interested in me. They talk with each other, and while they’re talking, I walk quickly back to my car start it, and drive away.

Everybody won. He didn’t die, I didn’t get hurt, and I learned a lot.

Mistake #1: not going off on him like a rabid rottweiler the moment I saw him start to approach me.

Mistake #2: not being willing to beat the shit out of him when he approached within stepping distance.

Mistake #3: trusting the police.

Three important lessons, hopefully learned. Price: one good shot of adrenaline.

Also, thanks for staying on the line. I really appreciate that.

Halloween

Thursday, November 1st, 2007

Sweaty palms, pounding heart. There’s even a little bit of fear in there, too. It’s painfully obvious I don’t really know what I’m doing. I’m fumbling, even silly things.

It’s dark, and the air is cool. I’m ready. Let’s do this.

Ready.

Ready. My heart won’t slow down.

….and go! My engine roars under my feet, the tires chatter as I pull away. First to red, second to red, third to red…85 miles per hour, 16.6 seconds to a quarter mile.

It’s done. What a rush!

It’s Halloween, and I’m car 407, stock 2001 Jetta 1.8T, drag racing for the first time.

Best reaction time was 0.123, best quarter-mile was 16.401. No weight reduction, no MAF.

…and then my oil temperature sensor went on the fritz going home, so I was driving in limp mode with the temperature showing redline hot…I knew it was going, but that’s impeccable timing.

Dancing Yellow Lines

Wednesday, October 17th, 2007

I’m driving home. It’s late, after a long day of programming and dance. Alt rock on the radio, and the rhythmic clicking of bones roll through the warm air. It’s cold outside, and the windows are up. The soft whir of air-conditioned heat barely intrudes over the quiet moan and thud of the tires.

The lines are dancing.
Rolling and weaving,
Soft yellow circles
Dancing through the night.
Flick, flick, flick,
They race past my window.
Looping, circling, linked together.

I smile as I watch them. The miles click by, I’ll be home soon. I stop for a moment to let them catch their breath while I open the window and feel the cool wind on my face. They’re a little quieter now, waiting for the right moment to start their siren dance once again.

Storytelling

Friday, September 28th, 2007

dsc07574-2255.jpgThe afternoon light drags on as the smell of Papa Gino’s pizza wafts through the reception area. I’m sitting by the table, trying to make out my laptop screen through dust and sunlight. The pizza is fair, if a bit plain.

My boss wants me to stay through lunch. He bought a veggie pizza no cheese at my request. I’m working through lunch, trying to code this XSL stylesheet out to work properly. He wants sectional tables of contents in the same file, excluding certain nested trees, and I’m practically at my wit’s end.

All through the afternoon, I’m at my desk. Time passes without change in light or sound, but I’m getting fuzzy. The browser windows stack up. I play my violin as I wait for my computer to build the document set one more time.

The clock slowly winds around to 5:30. A nap under my desk is short but very sweet. I awake bubbly and happy. Time for dance!

It’ll take me a while to dance like these people. It’s a whole different world, one which I never new existed outside of Google’d dance videos. I have to let go, hold, balance, push, relax. Gentler. Quieter. Faster.

You’re smiling at me, you know I’m new at this. I had to ask your name, again! You probably don’t know that even the dance position is completely new to me, but that’s alright. I’m enjoying the sensation. Soon enough, I’ll be working out new and odd ways of working these steps. Not now, though. For the moment, I’m feeling your weight, balancing the pull.

Sometimes we’re at arms length, turning, watching. Sometimes I bring you close, sliding the steps as we dance our spot on the floor. A quick arm brace and you’re away again, turning, pushing.

The music climbs as it starts to close. Spins are a bit new to me, but I send you out anyway. Spin, spin, spin, fold into me, and down!

Thank you for the dance.

Picture from the recent Brattleboro Dawn Dance.