What's in a name?

It's widely acknowledged that Germans are truly great at two things. They're probably quite good at a number of other things, but they are recognized as the world's best engineers, and the world's best bakers.

Which makes sense, when you consider that baking is just chemical engineering with frosting added on.

In my travels, I recently chanced to spend n evening in the company of a .. company of German engineers.

They were here in this country trying to sell their product. Good as it is, I really think they won't sell a damn thing until they change the name.

To begin with, according to Dr. Schmidt, in 1998 they deliberately set out to break into the American breakfast food market. Again. That obviously set some stringent parameters on their proposed product: it had to be obviously suited to breakfast (Hot Dogs and the like are simply out of the question).

Other demands were that the finished product had to have wide – very wide – demographic appeal. That is, everybody from 3 year old girls to 97 year old geezers would have to like it. It would also have to be very easy to prepare – so that those same 3 year old girls and 97 year old geezers could prepare it without effort. So simple that even politicians could fix breakfast without adult supervision.

Oh, they'd not just up and decided to get into the food buisiness on the spur of the moment. These guys have been at it for quite a few years. Some 50 or so years ago this same company came up with a thin, fruit-filled pastry. It took a few years, but they solved the problem of the finished pastry exploding as it flew up out of the toaster. They sold the rights to Kellog's, who kept the name, not knowing the history of the prototypes.

As the night grew, Dr Schmidt began to show a little evidence of an inner ear problem. Of course it had nothing to do with the truly prodigious quantities of beer he was recycling.

The rest of the crowd wasn't feeling much pain, either, but did manage to stay awake and (mostly) upright. I was regaled with tales of pies that exploded, cakes that demonstrated rapid exothermic expansion, donuts that produced more energy than it took to cook them, tarts that are now used to boot parking violator's cars.

In short, the imaginations of these fine engineers were fertile and rife with seemingly endless possibilities. Some of the products have obvious uses and marketability. I mean, I can totally get behind the idea of a cream-puff that reacts to a fire by exploding and producing enough flame-retardant foam to douse an entire room.

Then again, I don't really think there's a market for a mobile pancake that will crawl all over the outside of a building cleaning the windows. Not until they solve the problem of the trail of melted butter it leaves, any way.

It wasn't until the wee hours of the morning that Johan staggered with me to the back of the trailer where they kept all the demonstration models. It was there I saw their crowning achievement; the product they'd been working toward for all these years.

Breakfast food it is, no doubt at all. Mixed properly and poured onto a doubly corugated griddle, with a similarly sculptured griddle pressed down on top, the result is a delightful golden-brown pastry. The contour of the griddle results in cavities in the finished product that are perfect for holding melted butter, fruit spread, and or liquid sugar.

You've seen something similar, I know. But these engineers were after not only a breakfast food, but one that would appeal overwhelmingly to individuals who feel they need to lose weight. So these pastries would be considered “lite” in this country.

As usual, though, the Germans had over-engineered the thing. The finnished pastry certainly qualifies as 'lite'. In fact, the things actually fly. Yes, fly. If you have a properly tuned transmitter, you can guide the flying breakfast through any number of arial stunts.

It's a great thing. Really.

I just don't think they should insist on the name “Luftwaffel”

Where's the Beef?

How about a brand new conspiracy for all you conspiracy... buffs?

I'm not going to point fingers at any given government, but it's a little known fact that the world's cattle population completely died off in the late 1920's as a result of an immunization project that went terribly awry.

Think about this: When was the last time, while driving down the highway, you saw a cow actually move? And if you did see one move, how many were moving with it?

In fact, you can spot the more successful ranchers this way.. if one or more head of cattle is moving, the rancher can afford the latest in animatronics. Next time you see cattle moving, either stick around, or come back in an hour – you'll see them loop around and reset, performing the same motions over and over again.

What, you thought Disney made his millions drawing cartoons? Get real. He was merely the only contractor to succeed when the governments of the world were frantically looking for a way to hide their boo-boo. He used the money from his secret patents on the animatronic cows to finance his cartoon empire (and, to a lesser extent, the Disney theme parks).

“Aha!” you say, “ I just had a Mcburger, and it's guaranteed 100% beef.” Yes, this is so. More or less. In fact, all “beef” in the world today comes from one of six ginormous cultures, the result of further government frantic research, which, unfortunately, didn't bear... fruit, until after WWII. Ask your parents about all the meatless days back when they were kids.

It wasn't because the meat was being sent overseas to our gallant soldiers, they ate shoe leather and twigs, just as they do now. No, there was no meat to eat at all. The 'save it for the soldiers' bit was just another cover up, along with the great depression (I know I'd be depressed without the occasional burger, and I bet you would be, too), the dust bowl, and the rise of professional football.

Fortunately, Ray Croc found a way to clone buffalo meat, then – we'd call it gene engineering today – converted the stuff in the vat to something kinda indistinguishable from beef. And you thought he made his money by being a brilliant marketeer? Ha! He was almost the sole source for 'beef', even after his secrets were stolen by .. well, you know. Once the secret was out, Croc sold the secret to the Government (yes, Governments are that stupid) and they set up the big vat farms that now produce all of the beef sold in stores around the world.

Of course, you can go ask the ranchers and whatnot about it. Being in on it, of course they'll deny it all. They might even offer to let you pet a cow or two. That won't prove an darn thing, as the animatronic system has improved to the point where the devices are virtually indistinguishable from the real thing unless you know what to look for. Even if the rancher offers to butcher one for you, there is no proof: he's already prepped that one with special packages of the vat-meat, just for such emergencies.

There you have it. And I am NOT going to tell you where milk comes from.

Ain't paid my dues blues

I've been playing guitar since before I was born

I've been playing guitar since before I was born

I sing with a voice like the birds in the morn

Last night I had a dream as I slept:

All the great bluesmen (and women, it's true)

Came to hear me play, in a golden venue

yeah, they came to hear me play

After the set they all sat so still and so quiet

when what I wanted was to see them all riot

Up on the stage came Bo Diddley and Stevie Ray

and dozens of others all lead by Rob Johnson.

Oh yeah, Muddy Waters and Robert Johnson.

(Talk about your little slice of heaven!)

Lightnin' Hopkins was chosen to speak

He laid his hand on my shoulder and looked in my eye

"Son your playin' is right out of sight,

but should better be done where good folk can't hear.

Your voice reminds us of dreams in our sleep

where we'd wake up screamin' and startin' to weep"

"None of that matters, though, when singing the blues.

The problem, here, is; you haven't paid dues"

Listen, young man, you haven't paid dues!"

Your wife still loves you after thirty long years

Your kids are still healthy and haven't seen jail

You've a job, a car, and satellite TV

And lookie here son, your dog's a hundred and three!"

(damn, a hundred and three!)

Your car's not in the shop

You own your own home

You haven't got issues over which to grind axes

Hell your worst problem, son, is paying back taxes!

"None of that matters, though, when singing the blues.

The problem, here, is; you haven't paid dues"

Listen, young man, you haven't paid dues!"

They left me all alone on that stage.

Hours of unplayed music, page after page

with a brand new refrain roaring in my head

The problem, here, is; you ain't paid dues"

Listen, young man, you ain't paid dues!"

I've got the unpaid dues blues.

Yeah, I'm singing the unpaid dues blues

Originally Posted June 6 2012 to FB

Thoughts strike you at the strangest times. Or they don't. Life's funny that way. As i travel, it's sometimes frightening to see all the times that thoughts aren't striking people. Usually this results in them NEEDing to be struck with a clue-by-four, or even a baseball bat.

Just today, for instance, I observed an individual driving in the left lane of a multi-lane highway who suddenly decided "ohmygodthisismyexit" and without looking, swept across three lanes of traffic into the painted median at the end of the exit lane ) where the lane actually physically separates from the rest of the highway, just to be clear(. 

Once there, he got half way onto the actual deceleration lane when he decided "oh. Wrong exit." whereupon he tried to re-enter the flow of traffic still on the highway, which passing him at 65mph. Unfortunately, there was a big, black truck, driven by a big, angry-red, ANNOYED trucker in the way.

Since the driver didn't actually come to a stop (unlike the truck driver), things kept happening to him. Like, oh.. road signs, litter, and a curb.

I may have to clean up the gear that flew all over the inside of my cab, but he gets to explain to his insurance company why the front of his pickup is such a mess.

Now, I told you that story so I could tell you this one.

Ok, I just wanted to steal that like from Arlo Guthrie. I like it.

But I did want to use that example to suggest that there is something seriously wrong with our educational system.

I know, I know. You've heard me start on this before. I think, though, I've taken it farther than most. It's not a matter of teacher:student ratios, or money, or (mostly) books.

It's more basic. Look at what we colloquially call primary education: "The Three R's"

Yeah. Reading, Writing, and Arithmatic. Ok, there ARE three r's in there. But it's pretty darn easy to see what's messing up our yougsters. Oh, sure, we try to pass it off as a bit of a play,insisting the three R's refer to "Reading "Riting, and 'Rithmatic". 

Most kids I know aren't dumb enough to swallow that one.

I suggest we completely revamp the system. Sure, still teach the Three R's. But get it right, for a change.

Three R's: Red. Right. Returning

No place like the world's waterways to teach a person that actions have consequences

Originally posted Jan 6, 2012 on FB

Some days..
Last night, in southern Ohio, I received an official - verbal - request from the Ohio State Troopers. 

It all started with Beethoven's 9th. The 9th is, arguably, the head-bangingest piece of music ever written.. so, I was scooting down the highway.. um.. head banging.

I admit, I was not paying close attention to my driving (late, no traffic..) So, of course, my heart fled the scene when those pretty blue lights popped on behind me. 

Sitting there like a deer in the headlights of a 757, I greeted the officer with the usual "Good evening, officer" all the while, thinking "oh shit"

He looked at me with a kind of.. well..bemused expression on his face. "I'm just making sure you're ok. I saw you when you passed and..well, you were flailing around in the cab. A lot. It caused me some concern."

...
pregnant pause
...

I completely lost it. It took me minutes to control my laughing to the point where I could explain to the poor man what was going on. Hence the official request:

Please, no headbanging while driving.

This morning, my ribs STILL hurt.

Voting with my feet

I can't say I'm disenchanted.  After all, that explicitly states that I was enchanted to begin with, and, sadly, such is not the case.  I have never really liked Facebook, but I put up with it as it was the easiest way to maintain contact with friends and family.

Ok, it did that pretty well.  What's driven me over the edge is simply the way and direction Facebook is changing.  More and more commercial crap, and it's harder and harder to control my own content.  So, while it's their right to do what they like with their site and software, it's my right to do something about it.

To wit, I am resurrecting my blog here at Surly Hermit.

And, because I'm obsessive, I'm going to be doing my best to bring my photos and posts over here, too.  Obviously, this means that there is going to be some repetition.  For this, I apologise, but you should all be used to it- it is the campaign season, after all.  You should be completely numb to meaningless repetition... and, to be honest, pretty meaningless content.

Take that as you will.

Written 11 Oct 2012, Weatherford, TX

It's the 60s, all over again

Most of you not reading this would have little to no idea of what I speak. You weren't even born yet.

Waaay back in the 60s and early 70s, there was an ongoing big push encouraging people to do something about pollution. You couldn't go half an hour on the tv without at least one commercial pointing out how nasty our little corner of the cosmos was getting. Images of huge landfills, litter along some nameless highway, and something nasty in the river were displayed so constantly that I think a case might be made for "force".

Looking back on it, it's easy to related to the scenes in "A Clockwork Orange" where the protagonist is forced to watch violent films until he's 'cured'.

I'm not complaining! Even I agree that a lot of good came from that campaign. I have memories of a trip to Canada at about that time, and even at that age, I noticed the difference in the cleanliness of the roadside. As soon as we crossed the border into Canada, the roads became significantly cleaner. The difference was marked enough that I noticed it then, and I remember it now. A lot of water has flowed over the dam since then.

Now, without doing a lot of research - I am basing this on memories, after all - it seems to me that California was at the vanguard of all the bruhaha. I'd even go so far as to say California started it all. It certainly seems to mesh well with the mind-set of the era.

Every day, as I putter along on the nation's highways, I am reminded of that campaign, and I'm grateful for its success.

Almost every day. You see, it wasn't a success everywhere. Inroads were made, and for a time all was skittles, but one place in particular has utterly failed. Being the kind of person I am, I'd have initially knee jerked and said I was talking about New Jersey, or maybe Massachusetts (the only state harder to spell than Mississippi). I'd be wrong. Again.

Indeed, the state with the nastiest (and that is NOT too harsh a descriptor) highways is none other than that home of the warm fuzzy "the earth is our home" mother earth kiss-the-dirt sentiment: California.

Surface streets and the like are quite well tended. Very clean. Get out of the residential areas? It looks as though somebody threw down some asphalt across a landfill.

Here we have the state with the highest tax base in the country, preaching to all and sundry about pollution and whatnot (see their CARB study and rules), and they can't even keep their own back yard clean.

I am not impressed.

Time IS cyclical!

Ah.. nothing like the taste of Doritos and grape juice to bring back memories of summer travels with my parents, back in the 60s. Don't get me wrong - I learned a lot - the trips were always educational in at least some aspect. I remember Yellowstone, the Tetons, and Dinosaur Nat'l Monument. I also remember endless hours in the back of the van with my sisters and the dog...

On the whole, though, I think (looking at it from the big end of the telescope) that over all, I enjoyed it.

I have to wonder, though, if that part of my life left a stronger imprint on me than expected. It's been two years (ok, 26 months, almost) since I last posted here. During that time, I've been unemployed, and then employed as a truck driver again - for a local outfit, delivering electrical supplies to construction sites (mostly). Don't get me wrong, I did enjoy it... but something was missing.

In September of this year, I grabbed an opportunity, and here I am: back on the road again. I've been to both coasts (if you count the headwaters of the Potomac as part of the east coast). I've been to the southern tip of Texas.

I said it on my Facebook page: I can't believe they pay me for this!

The scenery is seldom boring - and when it is, that usually means the weather is making the drive itself a challenge. I get to meet all kinds of people (most of whom remind me how lucky I am to not like people), and get to peek in the back room of various and sundry industries.

September saw me watching a forest fire outside Beaver, UT, while the ash fell like snow around me. How cool is that?

So, here it is, a whole bunch of years after the 60s. The van full of family and dog (and all the various and sundry things a family of 6 needs on an extended camping trip) remains a fond rememberance, but it's been replaced by a 2004 Peterbilt 387 with closets, two bunks, and a significantly older me.

In the game of life, how often do you get to say "I win!"?

October 11- back in Denver and I'm not dead yet

Man, I must have been more tired than I thought. Slept 11 hours. Weather changed over night, which might account for the sinus headache that awakened me.

Set off on the road at about 14:30... should check my log to see. No biggie. No surprises, only the occasional driver who thinks his vehicle is much shorter than it really is. Nice gray dismal day. Hit the Denver yard and parked the rig, turned the key off at exactly 19:00.

I have been known to complain about idjit drivers who take up more than one parking space. Let it be known that I do not exempt May drivers from that category. In fact, what brings this to mind at the moment is one of our very own drivers who has parked in such a way as to make the space next to him unusable. I will grant that the spaces are small, but that's no excuse. In our own yard, the only other driver he's going to inconvenience is another May driver.

Yard is full, too. Only 3 empty slots – if you count one at the end of the row where drivers are parking their cars these days.

Every time I come back, something has been re-arranged.

Anyway, now I sit and await my steel chariot. This weekend, I WILL manage a 34 (assuming, as I said, I have a job Monday) Delivery on this load is scheduled for 07:00.

October 10 - Good shop and a moonscape

Shock and awe. No start. Worked with breakdown for an hour or so before they opted to turn it over to the local shop. Current guess is the starter relay. Myself, I'm not sure that's the issue, but what do I know?

Ha! I was right. Shop dude jumped across the starter contacts. Starter is definitely getting juice, so it's the item at fault. Shop has the repair estimate in to Brooks, waiting for a reply. I'm going to take advantage of the lull to finally take a shower.

Took a LONG shower. Just about an hour long. Run-out-of-hot-water long. Got back to the truck just in time for the shop dude to get started on the .. starter. Took Brooks a bit to ok the operation.

I let Sharla know via phone, since the shop has the batteries disconnected. Load is resched for monday morning at 07:00. Getting shut down by 20:00 Saturday will give me a 34...

Stopped for the night at North Plattte Flying J. 20:00 and the place is packed. There's a dirt lot just to the south that seems to be handling overflow. No problem, except SOME drivers – as usual – park with no consideration for others. One, in particular, is taking up a bit more than one “stall”. Fortunately, there's still room for me to squeeze in.. though it's snug. I made sure the guy on my right has room to get out of his cab, though. But the moron on my left (well, at least as much a moron as I am) is going to find it more difficult to get his truck out.

I should point out that this lot is.. um.. unimproved. It rather looks like a lunar landscape, to be honest. In fact, a Werner truck just pulled in and sank out of sight in one of the craters. I'm pretty sure he's ok, though – his lights are still moving around down there.