Neat and New. Yes. That’s what it is.
New in that, this is way better than school.
Neat in that, I don’t have to pay for it.

dang skippy.

A first day.

Wow, you can have magnetic fields that are strong enough to shrink coins.

"A pulsed ultra-strong magnetic field compresses the coin radially-inward with crushing force. The coins shrink in about 20 microseconds. There's no magic - they all still have the same mass - they are reduced in diameter and thus become thicker."

"By inducing currents of over ONE MILLION Amperes inside coins, invisible and extremely powerful magnetic forces are created which actually "crush" coins to a fraction of their original diameter in millionths of a second."

I like the part where he says: WARNING: "Quarter Shrinking" is an extremely dangerous high-energy process. It should NOT be attempted by casual high voltage hobbyists!

Sombody should start a magazine and call it: The Casual High Voltage Hobbyist. It could have submitted articles and informative lessons about electrical stuff.

..and letters to the editor:

Dave, from northern South Dakota, writes: "I really enjoyed last month's issue and specifically, the feature on "high voltage home remedies". My wife is doing much better. Thanks to your timely informative publication, I'm now able to broaden my electrical hobby interests and rise above the mere shocking of stray cats. Thank you Casual High Voltage Hobbyist."

...............................................

Cool. "Frozen" Lightning.
These unique objects were created by bombarding clear acrylic plastic with a high speed beam of electrons using an electron beam accelerator. Electrons become trapped deep within the plastic until the buildup of negative charge exceeds the dielectric strength of the plastic. The excess charge suddenly escapes with a loud bang and a brilliant flash of light, leaving a permanent record of its passing within the plastic. No two are alike.

I find it really weird how electrical patterns appear organic in form, like some kind of strange plant.
I want one of those shrunken quarters though.
Somebody buy me one.

Hey that's me.
Hey that's gross.
Really weird and really gross.

I don't want to wonder
If this is a blunder
I don't want to worry whether
We're gonna stay together
Till we die
I don't want to jump in
Unless this music's thumping
All the dishes rattle
In the cupboards
When the elephants arrive

I don't want to hold back
I don't want to slip down
I don't want to think back to
The one thing that I know I
Should have done

I don't want to doubt you
Know everything about you
I don't want to sit
Across the table from you
Wishing I could run

There is always a song that will say it better.

Big lightning storm tonight. I love lightning, especially the cloud to cloud kind that you can gaze up and out at, from a distance, and seldom hear. That particular brand of lightning seems to be more energetic and more fun to watch. And of course you always know that this lightning isn’t hitting the ground. It’s more of a “cloud gang warfare” thing with all the cumulous clouds throwing gang signs at the cirrus clouds. Then they start “bangin.”

Cloud to cloud doesn’t hit the ground, and you know that those two little redneck kids out fishing on the lake in their aluminum flatbottom, will be just fine. In short, ..no instant cow jerky, and no fried computers. Let the clouds do their thang and we can all watch - from front porches and back yards and from the passenger sides of all your mom’s Hondas.

My grandmother lost a bunch of weight when she was sick, so a week or so ago she pulled out her early seventies model Singer and went to work, umm, ..”making stuff smaller.” I forget the proper seamstress and or seamstressman terminology, but mostly she was just “sizing stuff down,” probably in the waist I presume.

She’s kinda gotten on an old lady sewing-kick though, and has been running a sewing marathon, a sewing telethon, with needles and pins and thread and all sorts of other doo dads that I’m pathetically unfamiliar with. If only we all had such power over our own wardrobes. I’ll stick to buying dress clothes though, ..from JC Penny, and perhaps people with a little bit more taste will keep going to JCrew. Because its so much easier to buy it and hang it up and wear it and wear it and wear it. And wear it. If it doesn’t fit very well anymore you give it away or burn it, ..or cut it up and make a lampshade cover with it so your mom can sell it on ebay. Or not.

So nana is sewing and pinning and threading or whatever, and I say that I have no earthly idea what she’s doing and an even hazier idea of how she’s doing it. She looks up and sets her needle down with hands that somehow never get pricked, and tells me that someday it might be important to at least possess the skill to sew on a button.

Then I remember that I do, in fact, know how to sew on a button. They taught us that in Junior High, in a class called PLS. Personal Living Skills I believe. I even remember a button-sewing-on test of sorts, and actually doing pretty well. But we all know that this kinda stuff is women’s work. Right? Wait a minute. I’m not gonna dig that hole. Never mind.

The PLS lady taught us all how to write checks, how to hold silverware, and even how to furnish our own living quarters, assuming that we would ever have any of our own. Still working on that part.

I remember the day she wheeled in a cart full of mid-eighties Sears catalogs. She’d been talking all week about furniture and carpet and color schemes and general borningness of similar unimportance to all of us average 14 year old crackly-voiced big shoed still can’t get our lockers open with any regularity country hicks. We were given a handout, detailing the top view of a two bedroom apartment. We were to chose items from the moldy catalogs. We were given a reasonable budget. We were to furnish.

A couple of rules if I remember correctly, were that there must be some type of sleeping device, such as a bed or couch or futon, and that the windows must have curtains. I think that was it. Reasonable enough.

This lady was trying. She was really trying to teach us. And obviously she was getting nowhere. The long haired guy sitting in front of me wearing the Metallica “Ride the Lightning” t-shirt, bought a cot, 3 gun cabinets, 10 or 12 shotguns, and one sheet, which was to be ripped in half to cover the two bedroom windows. We were all thoroughly impressed with “what he’d done with the place.”

Most of us guys spent over two thirds of our imaginary money on stereo systems – the old Sears catalogs had everything.

Spring 2002

Simple logic that lends me to say that yes, I am the grunt:

2 ladders. 3 electricians. You get to wire up the crampt closet fixtures, and stand atop the half empty five gallon paint bucket.

May.

The month where old lawn mowers come out of hibernation and cut fresh pollen-caked grass.

The month where where all the indoor people who can't quite fit it in their schedules to lay or play in the sun, filter through the tanning salons and spread on the tan-in-a can. Fake is better. Or is it. No it isn't.

The month where baking summer heat returns and hot Wal-Mart parking lots will cook all the jelly beans on dash boards - all M&M's in the defrost ducts.

Spring has sprung and been forgotten.

The flowers are gone.

The bugs are back.

It is hot.

Fix the boat. Find the skis. Sit under trees.

...In the shade.

We got ourselves a new town library. The old one burned and now a new one sits in its place. So I go in there today to use the internet, more specifically to get online and find a mailing address, ...rather than drive all the way home to do the same thing. Nice on the inside, our new library is. Sturdy new hardwood desks – not those crappy particle board jobs – actual wood. Swell. Almost dignified.

The only sad part about losing the old library was the loss of all our town’s old newspaper collection, which dated back to the late 1800’s. Other than that, I’d say the fire was a good thing. These sturdy tables and desks and new books are swell. The fire did a good job of exposing a couple of city officials who were skimming money away from the old building’s insurance policy as well.

“Hey the library burnt down.” Ok lets build another one with the insurance settlement. “That’s odd, this settlement only covers half the cost of the building. Where the heck have these high premiums been going?”

So we had one of those 1 or 2 cent sales tax things to cover the other half. And today I go in there and it’s pretty nice. On my way out the door I see Wallace, one of my old friends from school, driving by in a nice old hoopty ride. Wallace and I shared the fact that our names ended in “S”, so his locker was right beside mine all the way through junior high and high school, and he ended up being right next me at graduation, alphabetically, along with all my other locker buddies. Me and Kevin and Wallace and Kelcey and DeShane and JP. A nice thing. A nice connection we all had.

The first day of junior high we’re all standing there side by side after 1st period, stressed out about getting our lockers open, ..not really discerning that we’d be around each other for the next six years, trading insults and profanities and general stupidity; watching the same fights and brawls that happened to be nearby. Junior high here, was a violent place at times.

Fights were at least a weekly, if not daily occurrence. Girl fights were always better to watch. Screaming, hair pulling, biting, and scratching – girls fight with no honor, no code. There were those rare occasions though, when your average girl would confront a no-nonsense girl, one who’d fight like Oscar DeLahoya. Those fights were usually over pretty quick.

Then there was beginner band in seventh grade. And there was eating lunch as fast as you possibly could, so that you’d have time to play basketball on a full stomach. And P.E., where we’d have to run “long johns” around the football field until at least two people threw up. P.E. was definitely an experience. It was a requirement for everybody to take it at least two times in junior high. Three for me. Nothing better to do.

On sunny days, even when it was deathly cold or deathly hot, we’d play flag football or basketball, or just run. Seventh grade PE of course, gave us the choice of either getting naked and taking a shower with everybody, or getting a paddling. Such a swell thing when you’re 13, but after a week you don’t even think about it. Rainy days they’d just make us dress out and sit there all period, unless they were feeling generous and let us watch one of the two VHS cassettes that the coaches kept in their office. “Ok show of hands……Sports Bloopers, or Midget Wrestling? ..take your pick.”

From 7th through 9th grade, I watched the Midget Wrestling tape around 20 times, each viewing being more entertaining than the previous. I’ll always remember the miniature Mr. T look-alike midget wrester. That guy could lay it on thick. He was hardcore. Even though I’m not a wrestling fan, I’d take mini-Mr. T over The Rock anyday. I’d put money on it, if I had any.

I hadn’t seen Wallace since graduation. He was always a nice person and a good guy. Race is and always has been a big issue down here, but we got along great in spite my skin color being the opposite of his. Most all of us students got along with each other. Generally I noticed it was the teachers and faculty who showed the most racism at times, and or favoritism.

I drove from the library to the local courthouse, to see about a letter that I got in the mail. I’d gotten stopped for speeding two months earlier, and just a got a warning, also a warning for not having my proof of insurance in my truck. So the cop let me go and that was that. But this week I get a letter in the mail saying that I’d gotten a real ticket for no proof of insurance, and that I’m also charged with “failure to appear” for a ticket that I didn’t get. So I’m in the courthouse talking to the judge’s clerk ladies about it, and I get it all smoothed out. The total combined fines of $550 are dropped. Nice old white ladies. I can go in there and be nice and concerned about my predicament and they do what they can to help me out.

Feeling really nice and relieved, I’m walking down the sidewalk leading away from the courthouse that passes under some large oak trees. I think about what would’ve happened to Wallace if he were in my situation, ..and if he had tried the same thing I did.

He’d still have $550 to pay. That’s just how it is. Sad and pathetic, but that’s how it is. There’s the law, ..and then there’s a whole big gray area surrounding the law, surrounding economic opportunities, surrounding education, that tends to either help you out or screw you over. Sometimes I still don’t realize how much I have going for me, just because I belong to the prestigious club of white people. We’re pretty particular you know.

So we're all sitting on the carpet. Sitting "indian style". That's what she called it. She drilled us with questions, measuring our young brains. Where's the.. What's the.. How is.. Who are.. How many.. I remember thinking I was pretty smart or at least a little smarter than most everybody else. Being stuck up is more of a life trait - something that you either are or aren't, for your whole life. So then Mrs. Huggins asks: What is the first day of the week? I begin to blurt out Mon.. and surprisingly halt my response as everyone else chants Sunday. Why I didn't know, until I was seven, ..that Sunday was the first day of the week, ..is beyond me.

Maybe I just had bad parents.