Weebles Wobble, But They Don't Fall Down

Therefore, by process of elimination, I know I am not a Weeble.

Made wheat bread from scratch this week, courtesy of Tammy's new grinder, and it was simpler than I thought and kinda fun. House smelled awesome from the baking.

Dinner is ready, I am tired and I keep hauling my camera around with me everywhere and never see anything that I want a picture of, so this is going to be a short post.

And boring. More when my muse isn't on strike.

- Ryan

Three Seconds of Glory

The Bomber made its debut to great fanfare and zgomot... who knew that there was word in Romanian to perfectly describe the sound of thirty cub scouts in a gym?
A dual-car track was in place instead of the quad-car tracks of my Pinewood Derby days, so it was a bring-a-lunch-and-a-book affair while waiting for them to sort through all the pairings. I suspect Ralph had a hand in the track we had as kids, looking back... there must be some rule that enforces the prescence of at least one cabinet maker in any given group of Cub Scouts. Sure enough, we had some suspiciously hacksaw-free cars there today. I'd like to think that we have Scouts capable of triple coats of laquer and automotive-grade paint sanding, but the limits of credulity are sorely pressed after seeing the amount of nasal excavation that goes on when the higher thought processes shut down for any length of time in that demographic.

One track would effortlessly catapult cars into the waiting crowd and the other ran silky smooth into the catch box. There was outright panic when boys found out that they were up on the bad side. The officials let everyone run twice on each side before averaging the times, so it worked out.
Well... unless you were sitting close to the launch point on the bad side, that is. The signal to start the race was usually followed by the small-coconut sound of a car hitting a soon-to-be-sad spectator.

First time I've ever seen timers that would measure to three decimal places, but as every car ran between 2.9 second and 3.15, they needed it. Also, this was the first time I've ever seen Excel calculate the winner of a car race. Insert your own pun on 'mean' here.

Burke drew up the plans himself, and we stayed pretty true to it, other than not being able to find a 1:25 scale .50 cal. He did the paint, sanding, layout and project management. I'm proud of him - he did great, and even more so for doing so well on his first try.

Off to transfer the wee one to her bed so that any leakage that occurs due to her falling asleep at 7:30 happens somewhere other than the couch.

- Ryan

Publish Post

What Fun May Look Like

Some folks are gluttons for punishment, I'm apparently one for mud.

Now, to be fair, that is a miraculous form of punishment indeed, as it seems to violate laws of physics and reason as it covers me and all that I hold dear... at least I didn't fill my chain up with it like I did last ride. Don't ask.
Those caked-on barnacles anchored firmly to the bike are not, in fact, the full glory of a truly globby afternoon. Those are just the roots of the stalactites. The rest of it came off at about 30 mph and hit me in the head and face on the ride back home from the trailhead. I suspect that aliens arriving with no foreknowledge would consider the clay-heavy mud here less of a substance and more of a catalyst, permanently changing the host and never to be fully exorcised.

Finally replaced the stock lens on the camera and I've started to despair at ever doing anything but deepening my ignorance. Got some fun shots with it tonight, but haven't figured out how to dial the sharpness in without losing the natural-light shooting ability. Ah, well, good weekend project.

Speaking of which, the Pinewood Derby is coming up for Burke, and the Bomber is almost ready. Yes, it has real (stolen from a model airplane) bombs that will be glued to it. However, since it's painted in camouflage, you won't be able to see it. With any luck, it will also weigh three pounds and get me a royal stinkeye from the weigh-in judge. Max weight is a whopping 5 oz for those of you not in the know... and you can't use CO2 cartridges or Estes rocket engines either, as it turns out. No fun at all.

Off to bed to catch up with my loving wife, who wisely gave up on listening to me cuss at the camera and how-to websites an hour ago.

- Ryan