A friend of mine just posted this on his blog : http://www.gonzorider.com
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It ain’t so bad…
It’s deep winter here where I live. It’s been 7* for two weeks now. Iv’e spent hours under the trailer wrapping pipes with heat tape. Skirting, hay bales, visqueen, foam strips with sticky on the back, towels rolled up and stuck under the doors. Ice, ice melt, shovels, chippers, scrapers, I’m going nuts, stir crazy, too many fumes from the kerosene heater. I want out, I want to go ride my bike. But first I just have to survive the night. My trailer is desperate, formaldehyde fumes, boredom, apathy, lethargy, emotional emptiness, squalor, filth, and a brand new 77 inch plasma TV.
I have every TV satellite programmed in on my boot leg receiver, I get all the channels, free, just no sound. Well, I do have sound but it’s from the next station up on the dial, so I might be watching Super Cross, but I’m listening to Maury Povich and his cast of under aged mothers who are sleeping with their own mothers boy friends. The best part is when the crying and wailing matches up with the Chad Reed interviews.
I need to go out to the mini barn and get my bike ready for the mythical spring weather I remember hearing about. But, like I said before it has been 7* for two weeks, that means every thing is 7*, the concrete floor is 7*, the bike parts are 7* the wrenches are 7* the oils are 7* every thing is 7* and I need to put a new tire, oh, that will be fun…..
I need to go buy another heater, another extension cord and some more of those multi plugs to get more juice out of my poor little trailer. I glanced at my electric meter and that little wheel was spinning like the back tire on the back of a C class moto crosser.
I drove to the Mega Buy Low, where they save you money at your expense. I wandered aimlessly because to save me even more money, there is no sensible order to the lay out of the store. Lets see, diapers, glue, personal lubricants and jumper cables. Next isle, ketchup, batteries, mirrors and cleats. Next isle, oh boy, heaters! I look them over and the smallest cheapest one is advertised as a “Space Heater.”
I’m perplexed, isn’t space like really big? How could this little heater heat space and why hasn’t some one fired one up and gotten us out of the 7* slump we are in. Then there is the worry about global warming, tough to sell me when it’s 7*. But if I plug in this little heater and it causes global warming won’t democrats show up at my door?
I stood there in awe, this little 6”x6” $12 heater can heat space…..
Eventually a pimple faced kid in a Mega Buy Low vest walked by pushing one of those big mops.
“Excuse me young man, can you explain this little heater to me?”
“Well sir, it is a space heater, you plug it in the wall.”
“But isn’t space really big, like all the way past Pluto?”
“I don’t know sir, would you like me to call my manager?”
“Well if he can help explain this space conundrum.”
Another kid in a Mega Buy Low vest walked up, he was just as young as the first kid.
“How come you got to be a manager and he’s mopping the floor?”
“My name is Andy, his is Carl, they give us promotions alphabetically so I got to be manager, he’ll be a manager in about an hour. Poor Steve won’t make management till after dark tonight.”
“Okay Andy, explain this space heater to me”
“Well, you plug it in your wall, it gets hot.”
“Thanks Andy the Manager, I know that part, explain the “Space” part.”
Sarcasm is one of my most charming attributes.
“Well Sir, I think it means it will heat “A” space.”
“Isn’t there only one space, the final frontier, Steven Hawking, black holes, Mars, Jupiter, Pluto?”
“Well Sir, would you like me to get a Supervisor?”
“Sure, I’m half afraid to plug this little bomb in, what if it causes global warming? You ever seen Time Bandits and that little toaster oven? It contained Evil. I’m afraid this little heater will cause democrats.
Just then both boy’s cell phones buzzed and they acted like they were remote controlled robots. Must read text message……
Andy and Carl both grinned and said: “I made Supervisor!” “I made Manager!”
Aw screw it, I’ll buy the little heater, it’s only $12 and if it looks like it’s going to actually heat space up, I’ll unplug it, I’ll also be wary of my mini barn lifting off like a hot air balloon. I had visions of changing my tires in a T shirt, even sweating a little.
Thirty more minutes of wandering around I found the extension cords and much later the little multi plug, I had also found seven flavors of pork rinds, some out of date Slim Jims and since I was there, I picked up some of the personal lubricants, but that’s another story.
Back home I strung out the brittle cheap extension cord in the snow, I plugged both ends and very, very carefully turned on the new heater while chanting:
“Space, the final frontier….”
The little red light came on and a little hummmmmmm. I stood in awe, then in dismay, then in disgust. Was that little red light putting out the heat? I could warm one side of my hands or one side of one hand to be more exact. This little thing was not going to heat the final frontier, no wonder the manager of Mega Buy Low was looking at me like I was crazy. I’d never be able to show my face in there again. But then I realized both boys would have been promoted to corporate headquarters by the time I got back and I would be safe.
I stood with very warm shins and arranged my tool bench, frozen wrenches stuck to my fingers, snot dripped and froze making little clink noises when they hit the floor. 8 degrees, 9 degrees, 10 degrees!
I dropped down on my knees on the 10 degree concrete, numbness killed the pain. The big wrench slipped off the frozen axle, my knuckles cracked against the razor sharp sprocket teeth. This reminds me I need new sprockets and more Band Aids. Blood drips and freezes, lots of blood, puddles of blood, frozen puddles of blood.
I grab for a rag to apply direct pressure. Rag soaked with solvent, severe burning, excessive pain, I move for a clean rag, knee slips on frozen blood puddle and do a taint stretching split. I put my elbow on the jagged edge of the foot peg to raise my self out of the excruciating splits posture I’m in. Ruptured Dog they call this pose.
In just a moment, I realized that all of space is located just above my sock and where my pants leg ends. That little patch of bare skin is space, and that space is being heated, really heated, really really heated by my new Mega Buy Low Space Heater.
Sweet Jebus! I’m burning alive! I smell bacon, I like bacon, just not right now! Oh heaven and earth! My mind raced, if Evil could fit in a toaster oven, then it only makes sense that Space could fit between my sock and my cuff. It truly is a space heater, and I’m going to die because I doubted, I questioned, I plugged it in…
“Mom, Dad, don’t touch it, it’s EVIL”
I’m stuck in the Ruptured Dog pose, I’m cooking to death, time and space have come together, not like I expected…. I dreamed of actual time travel, but instead I’m frozen in time and my space is being heated.
I hear foot steps in the frozen snow approaching the door. It’s Wife, she has come to save me, she does love me. The flimsy door creaks open, and in her 3 pack a day, phlegm and carcinogen coated voice she croaks:
“I can see your crack.”
Then a long drag on her Virginia Slim and she finishes with:
” Vegan Manwich is ready.”
She slams the door, which does not latch and the three degrees I had gained are quickly lost.
This is it, this is how I go out of this world, cooked to death over a Space Heater. I start to black out, first tan, then brown then, black. I can still hear, but I can’t see, heated space has rendered me blind. Not really, too much juice on the breaker and the lights shut off. The pain on my shin subsides, and I’m able to flop backwards and break the Ruptured Dog.
I stagger back to the despicable trailer and suddenly, with the warmth, the smell of delicious Vegan Manwich, my trailer does not seem so bad. I’m glad to be there, glad to return from my brush with heated space. My trailer is not pretty, neither is Wife, there cooking meatless Manwich in her Moo Moo, but this is home, and after my near death experience, I realize things could be a lot worse. I could be Chad Reed.
-------------------------------------------------
It ain’t so bad…
It’s deep winter here where I live. It’s been 7* for two weeks now. Iv’e spent hours under the trailer wrapping pipes with heat tape. Skirting, hay bales, visqueen, foam strips with sticky on the back, towels rolled up and stuck under the doors. Ice, ice melt, shovels, chippers, scrapers, I’m going nuts, stir crazy, too many fumes from the kerosene heater. I want out, I want to go ride my bike. But first I just have to survive the night. My trailer is desperate, formaldehyde fumes, boredom, apathy, lethargy, emotional emptiness, squalor, filth, and a brand new 77 inch plasma TV.
I have every TV satellite programmed in on my boot leg receiver, I get all the channels, free, just no sound. Well, I do have sound but it’s from the next station up on the dial, so I might be watching Super Cross, but I’m listening to Maury Povich and his cast of under aged mothers who are sleeping with their own mothers boy friends. The best part is when the crying and wailing matches up with the Chad Reed interviews.
I need to go out to the mini barn and get my bike ready for the mythical spring weather I remember hearing about. But, like I said before it has been 7* for two weeks, that means every thing is 7*, the concrete floor is 7*, the bike parts are 7* the wrenches are 7* the oils are 7* every thing is 7* and I need to put a new tire, oh, that will be fun…..
I need to go buy another heater, another extension cord and some more of those multi plugs to get more juice out of my poor little trailer. I glanced at my electric meter and that little wheel was spinning like the back tire on the back of a C class moto crosser.
I drove to the Mega Buy Low, where they save you money at your expense. I wandered aimlessly because to save me even more money, there is no sensible order to the lay out of the store. Lets see, diapers, glue, personal lubricants and jumper cables. Next isle, ketchup, batteries, mirrors and cleats. Next isle, oh boy, heaters! I look them over and the smallest cheapest one is advertised as a “Space Heater.”
I’m perplexed, isn’t space like really big? How could this little heater heat space and why hasn’t some one fired one up and gotten us out of the 7* slump we are in. Then there is the worry about global warming, tough to sell me when it’s 7*. But if I plug in this little heater and it causes global warming won’t democrats show up at my door?
I stood there in awe, this little 6”x6” $12 heater can heat space…..
Eventually a pimple faced kid in a Mega Buy Low vest walked by pushing one of those big mops.
“Excuse me young man, can you explain this little heater to me?”
“Well sir, it is a space heater, you plug it in the wall.”
“But isn’t space really big, like all the way past Pluto?”
“I don’t know sir, would you like me to call my manager?”
“Well if he can help explain this space conundrum.”
Another kid in a Mega Buy Low vest walked up, he was just as young as the first kid.
“How come you got to be a manager and he’s mopping the floor?”
“My name is Andy, his is Carl, they give us promotions alphabetically so I got to be manager, he’ll be a manager in about an hour. Poor Steve won’t make management till after dark tonight.”
“Okay Andy, explain this space heater to me”
“Well, you plug it in your wall, it gets hot.”
“Thanks Andy the Manager, I know that part, explain the “Space” part.”
Sarcasm is one of my most charming attributes.
“Well Sir, I think it means it will heat “A” space.”
“Isn’t there only one space, the final frontier, Steven Hawking, black holes, Mars, Jupiter, Pluto?”
“Well Sir, would you like me to get a Supervisor?”
“Sure, I’m half afraid to plug this little bomb in, what if it causes global warming? You ever seen Time Bandits and that little toaster oven? It contained Evil. I’m afraid this little heater will cause democrats.
Just then both boy’s cell phones buzzed and they acted like they were remote controlled robots. Must read text message……
Andy and Carl both grinned and said: “I made Supervisor!” “I made Manager!”
Aw screw it, I’ll buy the little heater, it’s only $12 and if it looks like it’s going to actually heat space up, I’ll unplug it, I’ll also be wary of my mini barn lifting off like a hot air balloon. I had visions of changing my tires in a T shirt, even sweating a little.
Thirty more minutes of wandering around I found the extension cords and much later the little multi plug, I had also found seven flavors of pork rinds, some out of date Slim Jims and since I was there, I picked up some of the personal lubricants, but that’s another story.
Back home I strung out the brittle cheap extension cord in the snow, I plugged both ends and very, very carefully turned on the new heater while chanting:
“Space, the final frontier….”
The little red light came on and a little hummmmmmm. I stood in awe, then in dismay, then in disgust. Was that little red light putting out the heat? I could warm one side of my hands or one side of one hand to be more exact. This little thing was not going to heat the final frontier, no wonder the manager of Mega Buy Low was looking at me like I was crazy. I’d never be able to show my face in there again. But then I realized both boys would have been promoted to corporate headquarters by the time I got back and I would be safe.
I stood with very warm shins and arranged my tool bench, frozen wrenches stuck to my fingers, snot dripped and froze making little clink noises when they hit the floor. 8 degrees, 9 degrees, 10 degrees!
I dropped down on my knees on the 10 degree concrete, numbness killed the pain. The big wrench slipped off the frozen axle, my knuckles cracked against the razor sharp sprocket teeth. This reminds me I need new sprockets and more Band Aids. Blood drips and freezes, lots of blood, puddles of blood, frozen puddles of blood.
I grab for a rag to apply direct pressure. Rag soaked with solvent, severe burning, excessive pain, I move for a clean rag, knee slips on frozen blood puddle and do a taint stretching split. I put my elbow on the jagged edge of the foot peg to raise my self out of the excruciating splits posture I’m in. Ruptured Dog they call this pose.
In just a moment, I realized that all of space is located just above my sock and where my pants leg ends. That little patch of bare skin is space, and that space is being heated, really heated, really really heated by my new Mega Buy Low Space Heater.
Sweet Jebus! I’m burning alive! I smell bacon, I like bacon, just not right now! Oh heaven and earth! My mind raced, if Evil could fit in a toaster oven, then it only makes sense that Space could fit between my sock and my cuff. It truly is a space heater, and I’m going to die because I doubted, I questioned, I plugged it in…
“Mom, Dad, don’t touch it, it’s EVIL”
I’m stuck in the Ruptured Dog pose, I’m cooking to death, time and space have come together, not like I expected…. I dreamed of actual time travel, but instead I’m frozen in time and my space is being heated.
I hear foot steps in the frozen snow approaching the door. It’s Wife, she has come to save me, she does love me. The flimsy door creaks open, and in her 3 pack a day, phlegm and carcinogen coated voice she croaks:
“I can see your crack.”
Then a long drag on her Virginia Slim and she finishes with:
” Vegan Manwich is ready.”
She slams the door, which does not latch and the three degrees I had gained are quickly lost.
This is it, this is how I go out of this world, cooked to death over a Space Heater. I start to black out, first tan, then brown then, black. I can still hear, but I can’t see, heated space has rendered me blind. Not really, too much juice on the breaker and the lights shut off. The pain on my shin subsides, and I’m able to flop backwards and break the Ruptured Dog.
I stagger back to the despicable trailer and suddenly, with the warmth, the smell of delicious Vegan Manwich, my trailer does not seem so bad. I’m glad to be there, glad to return from my brush with heated space. My trailer is not pretty, neither is Wife, there cooking meatless Manwich in her Moo Moo, but this is home, and after my near death experience, I realize things could be a lot worse. I could be Chad Reed.
