August 27, 2008

Flat Out.

August has been a marathon, so I haven't been writing much around here. I'm dealing with a lack of time and anything very important to say, sadly. You wouldn't know it from the hackneyed sentences and dangling conclusions of my posts, but I do spend a lot of time trying to make sense of the voices in my head and then write down what they say in a logical fashion. This means I've got a pile of half-finished entries from the last few weeks, most of which you will probably never see. The other problem is that because I'm either hunched over my keyboard or sanding something on the porch, I don't get out much, so I don't have anything exciting to talk about other than the same three subjects.

Some things I am interested in, in no particular order:

The Nikon D90 is a prosumer-level DSLR with a full-size 12.3 MP chip (something only found in the pro grade camera bodies), high/lo ISO performance, 3 inch LCD, and HD Video. MSRP is $1000 for the body, and we'll have to see what it retails for, but it looks like I've found the successor to my D70.

I love the final shirt in the Venture Brothers Shirt Of The Week Club, featuring the steely visage of (now deceased) Henchman 24. Money is tight, though, so I will probably pass on it.

Based on a comment left in a BoingBoing Gadgets post, I am once again using Remote Desktop to control my music server, in the basement, from my iMac, on the third floor. I didn't realize all the functionality of the Remote Desktop application was built into OS 10.5 and compatible with 10.4. So what does all of this mean? I can now add ratings and playlists to the machine downstairs from my desk, making life a little more random and a lot less difficult.

Oh, and there's this:

What I'm trying to do is apologize for sounding like a hamster on a wheel. I promise I'll make it up to you in the coming months.

Posted on August 27, 2008 12:57 AM | link to this entry | Comments (0)

August 26, 2008

From the Vine.

When it starts smelling like Bubblicious on our back lawn, we know it's time to harvest grapes. This year's initial pick was about 6 lbs., which Jen quickly made into jelly and canned.

Posted on August 26, 2008 10:16 AM | link to this entry | Comments (1)

August 25, 2008

Sanding, Part 2.

Sunday afternoon, I rented an edging sander and worked my way around the porch.

Before:

After:

Using an edger is like wrestling a greased pig while trying to thread a needle. One must be very careful with the machine, as it will take off a quarter-inch of wood in only a few seconds. My forearms, knees, and lower back sound like the audience of the Jerry Springer Show this morning.

Returning the sander last evening, I lucked into a clearance sale on 1"x6"x10' board—something I've never seen before—and bought all of the baseboard wood for half the normal price. I think I may be going back today to get more for the den.

Posted on August 25, 2008 9:08 AM | link to this entry | Comments (1)

August 23, 2008

Mr. and Mrs. Smith.

Our friend S. has done more for the Lockardugan clan than we can possibly repay. She has nursed kitties, watched over the house, coordinated showers, served as a maid of honor—the woman does it all, with a smile.

She's getting married in a few weeks, and asked me if I could take pictures at the wedding. This is something that fills me with alternating waves of dread and excitement, because I'm thrilled from a technical aspect, flattered from an artistic standpoint, and terrified I might fuck something up. I've been doing some research into basic wedding photography tips, and one of the newsletters I subscribe to had a list of good articles on the subject.

The first article is focused on making happy clients, by doing things like mapping out a shot list, using diffused light, setting expectations, etc. I know I'm going to have to scout out the location of this wedding because it's outdoors, and definitely find a few backdrops to shoot against.

The second article adds a technical tip: shooting in Aperture Priority. I spent a lot of time fiddling with the Manual settings the last time I shot people outdoors, so I'm going to muck around with this setting a little tomorrow—I don't know why I didn't try this earlier.

Several of the commenters suggest lenses that are out of my current price range. The 18-200 VR lens would be a good choice, and a wide-angle lens like the 12-24; I can rent the 18-200 for $35 locally, which isn't bad at all. I'll have to see if they have a wide-angle too.

The thing that scares me the most is using the flash; I'm still not up to speed on settings yet, and that's going to take practice. What I need to do is read up more on TTL metering to see if that's my best bet, or use something else. I found a book at the store last night which had some great, simple rules of thumb for using TTL flash (especially to reduce red-eye), and doing some digging around the internets I've found a few places where the concepts are explained in plain english. This is an article on using multiple wireless TTL flashes. I'll add more here as I learn.

Posted on August 23, 2008 10:30 AM | link to this entry | Comments (0)

August 20, 2008

Dear Cantaloupe.

Your mother and I got out of town last weekend. We chose Berkeley Springs, WV, for a quiet retreat, thinking that a spa weekend would be a nice way to relax and enjoy ourselves before ~~all hell breaks loose~~ you arrive. Back in the 1700's, this dude named George Washington—you'll hear all about him in school—stopped by to take a bath, and he was so smitten with the area that he incorporated the town and bought land there.

We picked a quaint little inn online and booked a room, then made spa reservations for Saturday afternoon. We found out that many of the more exotic-sounding spa services aren't offered to pregnant women, as the mere touch of a hot stone or drop of scented oil will send the expectant mother into immediate labor, so we opted for a massage, facial, and pedicure. I've never been to a spa before, or had anyone other than a doctor look at my toenails with more than a cursory glance, so I was a bit nervous about the idea of a professional massage. Well, that, and nuding up in front of someone other than your mother. Unfortunately, they separated the two of us upon entry, and I was handed a locker key and a robe to change into. Alone in the dressing room, I closed my eyes, let the new-agey Muzak put me into a state of peace, dropped my boxers, and put the robe on. Then I slipped into a pair of flip-flops, and headed out into the unknown. I don't often wear robes in public, so it took a little adjusting and an eyeful of someone else's privates to realize the robes needed constant attention. I wound up walking around with my hands jammed in the pockets so that I would keep the two folds covering my junk.

I was scheduled for a hot-rock massage first, and the masseuse let me get situated on the table while she waited outside (whew) Nervous, I made conversation as she prepared the rocks and got herself organized. It turned out she grew up in the town next to the one I graduated high school in, so we spent the majority of my massage gabbing away about travel, family, and Southern food. I'd have to rate my first professional massage as comfortable, friendly, and informative, but not as relaxing as it probably should have been.

Next came a facial, which at the outset made me feel like a foolish pantywaist, but turned out to be a very pleasant experience. My masseuse was a younger woman who bundled my face up in a towel, pointed a steam generator at my face, and slapped about fifty coats of lotion on my skin. She also massaged my feet and hands, and then put them in these weird heated bag things which (I guess) ensured I was marinading properly. I hope your bottom is as smooth as my cheeks were on Saturday afternoon, little one. I hope it smells as good too.

Finally, we had a pedicure, and this your mother and I got to enjoy together. I had worried about my feet being nasty all day, but the woman hovering over my toes told me, with wonder and awe in her voice, that I have beautiful feet. Given the fact that I wear glasses, my hair is receding, my nose is bent, and I do not have the rippling muscles of an olympic swimmer, having this one redeeming physical quality is comforting. Even if it is my feet. Hopefully this trait will be passed along to you, little one. After she was done with my nails and a refreshing pumice scrub, I opted for a simple clear polish, figuring it would go with sandals and evening wear equally well.

Later, after relaxing in our room, we wrapped up our evening with dinner at a restaurant downtown, enjoying the cool air, relaxed atmosphere, and our buttery smooth skin.

You will be happy to know your crib is now assembled, and we have organized your room as much as possible. We still face a game of musical chairs with all the furniture in the house before we can really set your room up correctly. I have to finish the front porch first, and then we can move our office downstairs. Then the big futon in your room will move into that room, and we can push your crib to the far wall and have room for the dresser we still haven't found. See? Isn't that simple? It's really kind of fitting, when I think about it, because we didn't get to sleep in our own bedroom until a year after we moved into this house, and neither will you. Welcome to the family!

Posted on August 20, 2008 11:21 AM | link to this entry | Comments (6)

August 19, 2008

Sand In My Shoe.

We interrupt your regularly scheduled weblog for a day of floor sanding. More to come at 5.

Update:

Compare:

Here's a shot of the other side. That black line in the middle is where the original porch ended back in 1920-whatever, and where they just tacked a few pieces of wood in place to match up with the new addition. I have no idea what we're going to do about that part yet.

Posted on August 19, 2008 2:17 PM | link to this entry | Comments (1)

August 13, 2008

On Trucks and Bromance.

Continuing our illicit and misunderstood affair with all things rusty and loud, Mr. Scout called me yesterday to tell me about a pair of 800 B's he needed to check out in Elkridge, not far from here, and asked if I'd like to play hooky with him. He used his most sultry meet-me-in-the-junkyard voice, which he knows I can't resist, and picked me up after lunchtime. We turned off Rt. 1 through town and onto a side road parallel to the railroad tracks, snaking up into a wooded community where two trucks sat rusting mere feet from the tracks.

The 800 B was the final variant of the original Scout model, produced for a short while in late 1971 before the rollout of the Scout II. It came with a choice of a 4-, 6-, or 8-cylinder gas engine and multiple transmission options, and little other creature comforts. Designed in the late 1950s as a competitor to the Willys Jeep, it was a wildly successful utility vehicle produced by a manufacturer of agricultural equipment, which meant it was a bulletproof way to get from field to town and back again when one needed to fetch a part for the tractor from the dealership. I was a little excited when he told me about them, because the only trucks I find more appealing than the Scout II are the Scout 80-800 series.

The two examples we looked at were in pretty rough shape from sitting for an extended period of time. The "runner" had a 6-cylinder 266 cubic inch engine and a 3-speed stick (most likely a Borg Warner T-18), and it was painted a bright blue. The color couldn't hide the fact that several of the body panels were laced with rust, and the interior floor was gone in several places. We were told the transmission was shot, which was the reason for its retirement, and apparently it had been sitting for several years waiting for a donor.

The second truck had a V-8 of indeterminate size (because of their similar body mounts and identical bellhousing setups, IH engines were very easy swapouts) and the same transmission, but it was in much worse shape. An advanced state of cancer had taken the body tub and most of the panels, although the top was in reasonably good condition.

After an extended viewing, we both agreed these two trucks were well beyond our help, even though they contained a wealth of rare parts. I think they add up to 2/3 of a decent Scout for a man with lots of spare time and a tolerance for pain—but not this man. It's gotten to the point now where I'll hear about a Scout for sale and set my expectations purposely low because of the condition I usually find them in, and these were no exception.

Posted on August 13, 2008 7:41 AM | link to this entry | Comments (1)

August 12, 2008

Red Truck.

On a mission at the Home Depot this Saturday I spied a pretty Chevrolet pickup parked over by the tool rental area, and stopped to shoot a few quick pictures of it. It was clean but used, the sheetmetal dinged and dented but obviously cared for.

Pictures on the interwebs indicate it's somewhere between a 1947 and 1953 model, and it's obviously a driver. I like the fact that it's clean, not modified, and doesn't have stupid mag rims or ground effects.

Posted on August 12, 2008 3:11 PM | link to this entry | Comments (0)

August 11, 2008

Wordle.

Ha! This is fun. Wordle takes the feed from your website or weblog and makes a pretty, customizable font cloud from it.

Posted on August 11, 2008 8:59 PM | link to this entry | Comments (0)

Thank You.

Mother, baby and I all thank everyone for their incredible kindness and generosity. We are humbled and blessed. Thank you!

Posted on August 11, 2008 9:57 AM | link to this entry | Comments (0)

August 9, 2008

New Molding.

Posted on August 9, 2008 6:04 PM | link to this entry | Comments (0)

August 5, 2008

Spooky Van.

I've always liked the idea of having a utility van as a means of transport. They're big, they hold a ton of cargo, they're enclosed and secure, and they exist everywhere. They have been in continuous production for decades, and they are still available new from the factory, the design essentially untouched. They remind me of old episodes of S.W.A.T. where the the big black van screeches to a halt and the team jumps out to somersault through windows or rappel down the face of a building as the music swells to a crescendo. And, there's something about having the entire door open while cruising down the freeway that reminds me of doorless Jeeps. I've had several conversations debating the merits of owning and driving a retired UPS van (apparently, this is all but impossible; Grumman Olsen custom-made these vans for the company and all retired vans are disassembled for spare parts) or a GMC StepVan as a work/hauling truck instead of a pickup.

I'd paint mine something harmless-looking, black out the wheels, and make sure the back section was enclosed. Inside, I could have a full workbench, or a mobile welding unit, or a set of bunk beds for travel. Of course, hauling around a wood shop, camping rig, or zombie survival outfit would be expensive on gas; a 6.9 liter diesel at 10mpg makes for an ugly Visa bill.

Which is one possible reason why Mr. Scout and I found a blue stepvan in a junkyard in West Virginia on Saturday.

This one was painted a light blue latex with a house roller, and accented with small pink handprints along the front of the fender. The windows were dirty and covered in old sticker residue, and the wheels were all mismatched retreads. All in all, it was a pretty sketchy vehicle, which made the silver reflective lettering on the outside that much more ironic:

ICE CREAM
CANDY
SODA
WATER

Inside, it was a hundred times more molester than the outside. A mishmash of wooden and wire shelving still held buckets and empty cardboard cartons. One filthy cooler chest sat in the corner, which I avoided opening. a handmade plexiglas window stretched across the back of the van, with a crude square cut out for passing the "merchandise" through. Yes, that's right, in order to buy stuff, small children walked up to the open back doors of the Big Spooky Van, cash in hand, to buy italian ices, bomb pops, cigarettes, pot, or whatever else this kook was selling. And, thankfully, the proprietor accepted both food stamps and Independence cards.

Looking at the dashboard, I was filled with excitement when I spied an electronic gadget stuck to the panel:

That's right, it's an ice cream sound machine! I don't know if it will play the sounds and songs I remember from living in Canton (the "Hello!" song comes immediately to mind), but I decided it was coming with us in any case. A quick snip of dry-rotted wiring with the Leatherman and it was ours. But, looking back on the day, I can't believe I was dumb enough to have left without taking the One True Prize:

The stylized cap on that steering wheel is the fucking bomb. I'm considering making a T-shirt design out of that logo it's so damned cool. Why I didn't take two minutes to pry it out of the cracked plastic I'll never know, but it sure does make for a great picture.

Posted on August 5, 2008 10:11 PM | link to this entry | Comments (3)

August 4, 2008

Riverfront.

This weekend, we had the good fortune to be invited to a riverfront cabin in West Virginia to spend the weekend with friends, both human and canine.

We were treated to warm, dry weather, more food than we could eat, cold beer, water only a few degrees cooler than body temperature, and a welcome case of vacation amnesia.

Claddagh the dog showed off her training for the Women's 500 meter individual medley, rarely leaving the water in favor of chasing dragonflies and herding sticks.

Later, she shipped out for a tour as the first mate of the kayak.

Saturday night we sat around a fire and made s'mores, and I attempted not to ignite our marshmallows into flaming sugar bombs.

Big, big thanks go to Mr. Scout and his lovely wife, who made the whole thing possible. My brain, My wife, our baby, and my carpal tunnel THANK YOU.