First Big Summer Ride

The summer biking season has officially begun. With everyone home for the Memorial Day weekend, Kris, Rich, Lawrence, Scott, his brother Eric, and I leisurely rode from la casa de familia Lou in Willow Glen to Los Gatos and back. We had intended to take the Los Gatos Creek Trail all the way up to the Lexington Reservoir, but, much to Kris' chagrin, a trail closure spared us the climb. All the same, it was probably a blessing in disguise given our early season conditioning.

According to Eric's onboard computer, we traveled approximately 21 miles in an hour and 45 minutes of riding time--resulting in a rather unimpressive average speed of 12 miles per hour. It was actually a decent overall pace when you consider that Kris hadn't been on a bike in eight months, Rich's knee was dodgy, and that we had to slow down considerably for the crowds in Vasona. Since this ride was a bit more of a cruise than a race, I'll treat it as a prologue to the summer season and refrain from handing out jerseys.

Photos courtesy of Kris' mother and Lawrence's camera.

Prior to departing:






Pausing to walk our bikes down the ramp:


Stopping to watch the Vasona steam train pass:

Pope Benedict XVI Visits Auschwitz

Pope Benedict XVI walks through the infamous entry gate at Auschwitz.

Pope Benedict XVI, born Joseph Ratzinger to a Bavarian policeman in 1927, followed in the footsteps of his predecessor, John Paul II, by visiting Auschwitz at the end of a four-day pilgrimage to Poland. In an attempt to set the tone for his papacy, this trip draws a connection between the new pope and and his much beloved Polish predecessor, all the while gathering the support of the Polish people and Catholics everywhere.

In a further nod to legacy of John Paul, Pope Benedict XVI powerfully reflected,

"In a place like this, words fail. In the end, there can only be a dread silence, a silence which is a heartfelt cry to God—Why, Lord, did you remain silent? How could you tolerate all this?"

"Where was God in those days? Why was he silent? How could he permit this endless slaughter, this triumph of evil?"

But, unlike John Paul II, he did not speak of his personal experience of that unspeakable time (he was unwillingly forced into the Hitler Youth and the German Army). He then framed the Nazis' attempt to eradicate the Jews as an attempt of human beings to replace God. Though he attempted to reach out to Jews, his theological approach makes me uneasy.

Ian Fisher wrote in the New York Times:

"And while he spoke eloquently about "forgiveness and reconciliation," Benedict did not beg pardon for the sins of Germans or the Roman Catholic Church during World War II. He laid the blame squarely on the Nazi regime, avoiding a common acknowledgment among many Germans that ordinary citizens also shared responsibility."

"And the images, beamed around the world, were striking: the pope in pristine white walking alone under the infamous iron lie promising freedom through work; a kiss on the cheek to a Jewish survivor; dark rain that gave way to sun and then, somehow, a rainbow as he finished prayers."

Along with these poignant scenes, the pope also placed a single lit candle in the front of the execution wall at Auschwitz. I am afraid, though, that the images of the day may be just so much good PR.

Before Pope Benedict XVI spoke, Poland’s Chief Rabbi Michael Schudrich chanted the Kaddish, the Jewish prayer for the dead. Schudrich also paid tribute to all Nazi victims everywhere and recalled that many righteous people, including many Poles, had sheltered Jews during the war. But, in a chilling reminder that anti-semitism still lives, the New York-born rabbi was attacked on a Warsaw street on Saturday by a young man shouting "Poland is for Poles."

You can read more about Pope Benedict's visit to Auschwitz in these archived articles from The New York Times and MSNBC (originally posted here and here). Though both appear to be decent recountings of the events, I'd like to draw your attention to the way that the Times story mentions how Benedict departed from John Paul. In particular, Benedict's avoidance of even the suggestion of responsibility of the greater German population beyond the Nazi regime. Where the MSNBC story speaks of Benedict's actions only as facts, casting them in a seemingly glowing light, the Times piece places these events in a deeper historical context, revealing a grayer truth.

My Father's Op-Ed Letter

Every now and again, my father writes a letter to the editors of major American newspapers. A handful of these letters are published annually. Although his letters have appeared in a variety of major papers, the vast majority are published solely in his local ANG (Tribune Group) affiliate, The Fremont Argus.

The letter which prompted this post happened to be desired by The New York Times, The Washington Post, and The Fremont Argus. The Post was first to contact my father; and he gave them the go ahead to run their edited version of his piece. The two other papers contacted him later in the day seeking permission to run the letter. Since the papers demand exclusivity, he didn't respond to the latter two queries. Absent his explicit permission, neither paper should have run his letter. Nonetheless, The New York Times printed an edited version of the letter.

Yesterday my father's letter about the the Enron verdicts sat atop the Times Editorial page while, at the same time, appearing in the Post. While my father prefers the editing of the Times version, he is shocked that they ran it at all. He has no doubt that both papers are aware of this double printing. We're both wondering if he'll hear back from either paper. Pehaps the Times will apologize for printing without permission. More likely, he'll receive an angry call from The Post about the lack of exclusivity.

If you don't want to login to either paper, I've archived both the NY Times and Washington Post letters.

The Lanyard

Listening to NPR the other day, with Mother's Day a recent memory, I happened to hear a broadcast of a special anniversary edition of City Arts and Lectures featuring poets Billy Collins and Kay Ryan being interviewed by Garrison Keillor. You are now listening to an excerpt of that program featuring former United States Poet Laureate Billy Collins reading his wonderful poem, The Lanyard. Collins' poem goes beyond the "worn truth that you can never repay your mother" and touches on a subtler, more sadly humorous reality.

The Lanyard
by Billy Collins

The other day I was ricocheting slowly
off the blue walls of this room,
moving as if underwater from typewriter to piano,
from bookshelf to an envelope lying on the floor,
when I found myself in the L section of the dictionary
where my eyes fell upon the word lanyard.

No cookie nibbled by a French novelist
could send one into the past more suddenly—
a past where I sat at a workbench at a camp
by a deep Adirondack lake
learning how to braid long thin plastic strips
into a lanyard, a gift for my mother.

I had never seen anyone use a lanyard
or wear one, if that’s what you did with them,
but that did not keep me from crossing
strand over strand again and again
until I had made a boxy
red and white lanyard for my mother.

She gave me life and milk from her breasts,
and I gave her a lanyard.
She nursed me in many a sick room,
lifted spoons of medicine to my lips,
laid cold face-cloths on my forehead,
and then led me out into the airy light

and taught me to walk and swim,
and I, in turn, presented her with a lanyard.
Here are thousands of meals, she said,
and here is clothing and a good education.
And here is your lanyard, I replied,
which I made with a little help from a counselor.

Here is a breathing body and a beating heart,
strong legs, bones and teeth,
and two clear eyes to read the world, she whispered,
and here, I said, is the lanyard I made at camp.
And here, I wish to say to her now,
is a smaller gift—not the worn truth

that you can never repay your mother,
but the rueful admission that when she took
the two-tone lanyard from my hand,
I was as sure as a boy could be
that this useless, worthless thing I wove
out of boredom would be enough to make us even.

Dixon British Meet Photos

Sunday Car Craziness

I spent much of last Sunday attending (and driving to) a trio of interesting car events: the Dixon All British Meet, the Friendship Day Meet, and an Arcane Auto tour of the Toy Box. I had hoped to take the MG to these events. But the threat of rain, coupled with my unease about driving the only recently reconstructed MG, pursuaded me that it was prudent to take the Camry instead.

My plan for the day was predicated on the following two facts: 1. The Dixon show also has a major swap meet; and the best stuff at swap meets goes early. 2. The Arcaners were departing from Redwood City for the nearby Toy Box at 11:30 am. So it came to pass that I encircled the most of the Bay area in one day--driving up 680 to 80 to Dixon, 80 to the Bay Bridge to 101 to 280 to Redwood City, and 280 back home.

I was up at 5:30 am, and on the road before 6. An hour and a half later I arrived at Dixon, just as the swap meet vendors were setting up. In truth, the MG is basically complete. I'm really not looking for more than a few tiny things for myself. Mostly, I was in the market for a few parts vital to Bob's now almost complete Metropolitan. As it so happened, I came across a pair of potentially valueable trunk hinges for him. Although the vendor thought they came off a Triumph TR4 and had no idea if they'd fit a Met, for ten dollars they were too good to pass up. Sir zLog has inspected them and believes that they may work. If so, this would be a great steal because Met trunk hinges usually cost upwards of $100.

I stayed at Dixon watching the cars arrive (and hoping for new vendors) until about 9:45 am. Few new vendors came, and I was a bit disappointed by the size of the swap meet in general. From what I saw of the show, the cars there were almost all of makes and models I'd seen before. The only difference being that I hadn't seen these particular automobiles before. Since I've become quite familiar with most of the British cars around the South Bay, it's nice to see different colors and variations.

After driving back down South and West, I arrived at the Friendship Day Meet in Redwood City at 11:15. I hastily took pictures of as many interesting cars as I could while searching for my Arcane Auto friends. I finally saw them just as they were departing for the gathering site for the tour to the Toy Box. Not wanting to miss the Toy Box, I hastily jogged back to my car in an attempt to catch up with them.

I arrived at the appointed meeting place a few minutes later in my decidedly un-arcane Camry--especially compared to the Citroens, Messerschmitt, Trihawk, DeLorean, Austin open door beach car, Renault Dauphine, and other assorted autos in attendance. Nontheless I was greeted warmly and invited along to Dick DeLuna's private collection, known as the Toy Box, at his new Woodside home.

The Toy Box collection is absolutely amazing, containing more than forty immaculately restored cars and motorcycles amidst a sea of memorabilia. Most of Dick's collection is housed in large barn on the grounds his beautiful Woodside home. However, the term barn is deceiving. In point of fact, the structure is a barn outside, but inside it's a shiny wood-flored shrine to the the beauty of automobiles and their history. In a collection that also includes some slightly more usual classics, such as a pair '60s Mercedes convertibles, a '60s Corvette, an MG TD, an MGA, an Isetta, and a Messerschmitt; the highlights for me were a classic 1947 DeSoto Skyview Taxi, a 1948 Nardi racer, a 1917 Hall-Scott, a 1936 Dodge Woody, and a host of early automobiles.

I arrived home at 2 pm after a full day of driving and cars, very tired and ready for a nap. Photos to follow. Full picture albums are posted here.

It's a Sweater!

Well, for El Guapo it was a sweater. For me, it was $100 dollars in gift certificates to In-N-Out. I think my father is operating on the notion that his present will guarantee that I won't go hungry.

For Natalie, it was an Acme Food Processor. For Manny, well...I can't say just yet.

It's Official, I'm an Idiot

Well, we've all had one of these moments. I suppose that since I finally just completed the head replacement on the MG after the rebuild, it was time for me to screw up something else. So I think I've fried my alternator.

I took the MG out for a trip over the hill to Aptos, both to watch the Leland Boys Tennis Team play CCS Individuals today and to put the car under a full range of load conditions (after which I was going to retorque the head). Unfortunately, I turned my lights on for the wooded sections of Highway 17 and forgot to turn them off when I parked. When I tried to depart some hours later, the battery was dead.

But that's no big deal you say. Ahhhh....but it is for me. I enlisted the help of a Leland parent and proceeded to go through the usual jump start procedure: red cables to red terminals on both cars, black to black on the other car, and black to the frame of the MG. This would have been fine but for one small fact--the leads on my battery are reversed.

This is where it becomes clear that I'm an idiot. You see, when I resurrected the MG about a year ago after a 15 year period in our garage, I found that the car had been mysteriously hooked up for positive gound. This is pretty unusual for a 1974.5 MGB roadster. Of course, this arrangement had killed the previous alternator (which was a royal pain to replace). Anyway, when I put a new battery in I tried to change the battery leads around so that black would go correctly to negative and red to positive. But, after much penetrant and struggle, I simply couldn't remove one of the leads. So I gave up and decided to just hook it up with the wrong colored wires in place. I promised myself I'd remember this reversal in the future.

And I did remember it, but only after I began to see smoke emanating from under the hood. I quickly disconnected the battery and opened the hood to reveal my alternator smoking like a steam locomotive. A quick peek at the battery (which is entirely black) revealed a tiny "+" mark beside the terminal with the black lead attached, confirming my recollection. At this point I figured my alternator was shot (or, at the very least, not worth testing); so I had the car towed home.

However, despite the escape of a large volume of pungent smoke, my alternator may yet survive. When I charged the MG so that I could drive it back into the garage, the alternator warning light went off. A check with a voltmeter should provide more definitive information.

Look! Up in the Air! It's Pikachu?

New York City's Office of Emergency Management and Macy's took advantage of the wind gusts this morning to run up a trial balloon.

Photo by Hiroko Masuike for The New York Times.

Wedding, Tennis Social, and Car Repair

A number of wonderful events took place yesterday. Most importantly, Manny and Jen got married in lovely ceremony in the amphitheater at Kelley Park. Afterward, a most enjoyable time was had by all at the reception. Congratulations to the happy couple.

Earlier in the day, I ran a junior-adult pizza and tennis social. Since almost all of the kids were playing with a parent, and it was supposed to be social tennis, it was my job to insure good matchups and diffuse any tension that might have arisen. I think I did well on both counts.

And continuing with the reverse chronological recounting, I got the MG going in the morning. Once again, Dan came over to help me troubleshoot. For a while, neither he nor I could find any obvious problems. So, after gapping and installing new plugs, off we went. Everything was fine until we turned onto Almaden Road and experienced a massive loss of compression accompanied by loud popping noises. The very same thing that had happened to me when I tried to take it out the first time after putting everything back together.

It took us a little while to realize that the culprit was an exhaust valve that I had adjusted but not tightened down sufficiently. Thus, the valve wasn't opening and exhaust wasn't being allowed to escape from that cylinder. Some quick valve adjustments later, the MG started up and ran great.

It's Howdy Doody Time

The Howdy Doody Show introduced a generation of American children to a loveable cast of characters. Apart from Howdy Doody (a puppet voiced by show host Bob Smith), there was: Clarabell the (silent) clown, Heidi Doody (Howdy's sister), Mr. Bluster, Dilly Dally, Princess Summerfall Winterspring, Chief Thunderthud (who originated the cry "Kowabonga!), and the curious Flub-a-Dub (a puppet composed of parts of eight animals).

Indeed, these characters are so beloved that they cause adults to wax nostalgic about them lo these many years later. My father is fond of recalling a particularly stern elementary school teacher who, despite seemingly having had little warmth for anyone or anything, earnestly asked her students about Dilly Dally's exploits on a daily basis.

In addition to the memorable characters, Howdy Doody also gave us a handful of noteworthy inventions, including the Flapdoodle, Super Talk-O-Scope, Electromindomizer, Honkadoodle, and the Mangle Wurzel. Three Flying Gonkletwerps were also called into being on the show. Despite being invisible, these creatures scared the Peanut Gallery so they eventually went back to wherever they came from.

The popular refrain you hear began every episode of The Howdy Doody Show, to the delight of children everywhere.

So let's give a rousing cheer...




Howdy Doody and Buffalo Bob Smith.

My Mane Is No More

It had to be done sometime. And yet, every time I thought about cutting it I had misgivings. Perhaps I'll find out how far my hair will grow next time. For now, I'm a hedgehog again.

Before:

After:

14 to 41

For different take on on birthdays and the passage of time, I present 14 to 41 by Jonah Matranga's solo project Onelinedrawing. This tune really connects with my sense of time and aging. Although I wouldn't say my birthday is my worst day, it's certainly not my best day either.

Goodbye Clarabell

Lew Anderson, 84, Clarabell the Clown and a Bandleader, Dies

By DOUGLAS MARTIN
May 17, 2006

Lew Anderson, whose considerable success as a musician, arranger and bandleader paled before the celebrity he achieved as Clarabell the Clown, Howdy Doody's sidekick on one of television's first children's shows, died on Sunday in Hawthorne, N.Y.

He was 84, but always felt he was around 25, his son Christopher said. His father died of complications of prostate cancer, he added.

"Well, his feet are big, his tummy's stout, but we could never do without," Buffalo Bob Smith and the Kids of the Peanut Gallery sang in appreciation of his character, in a baggy, striped costume, who communicated by honking a horn for yes and no, Harpo Marx style.

Other times, Clarabell the Clown made his feelings known by spraying Buffalo Bob with seltzer, or playing a trick on him that everybody but Bob figured out immediately.

Before there was Big Bird, Barney or SpongeBob, there was Howdy Doody and his friends in Doodyville. Baby boomers grew up with "The Howdy Doody Show," which began in December 1947 at a time when only 20,000 homes in the country had television sets. It was the first network weekday children's show, the first to last more than 1,000 episodes and NBC's first regularly scheduled show to be broadcast in color.

When it ended on Sept. 24, 1960, after 2,243 episodes, it was Clarabell who had the show's last words. Since until then he had only honked, they were also his first words.

The camera moved in for a close-up of Mr. Anderson, who had a visible tear in his eye. A drum roll grew louder and then died. With quivering lips, Clarabell whispered, "Goodbye, kids."

When Lewis Burr Anderson was born on May 7, 1922, in Kirkman, Iowa, nobody envisioned he would become a clownish celebrity. He was not the first Clarabell: that was Bob Keeshan, later known as Captain Kangaroo. He was not even the second Clarabell. That was Bobby Nicholson, who went on to play J. Cornelius Cobb on the show.

What seems certain is that Mr. Anderson was Clarabell for an overwhelming majority of "Howdy Doody" shows from 1954 to 1960. In the opinion of Buffalo Bob Smith, who originated and starred in the show, he was also by far the best, according to Mr. Smith's memoir.

Mr. Anderson's father was a railroad telegrapher. He began playing his sister's clarinet when she tired of it, and soon had his own band. He attended junior college in Fort Dodge, Iowa, and Drake University in Des Moines. He enlisted in the Navy during World War II and started a band between battles in the Pacific theater.

After leaving the service, he toured the Midwest with bands, honing his talent for arranging and composing music. In the late 1940's, he joined the Honey Dreamers, a singing group that appeared on radio and early television shows like "The Ed Sullivan Show." The group appeared on a musical variety television show Mr. Smith produced for NBC.

When the Clarabell part opened up on Mr. Smith's other show, "Howdy Doody," Mr. Smith and the other producers asked Mr. Anderson if he could juggle. "No." Dance? "No." Magic tricks? "No." What can you do? "Nothing."

"Perfect, you start tomorrow," Mr. Smith said.

At first, Mr. Anderson saw Clarabell simply as a job paying more than $400 a week. Then, he began to be mobbed at personal appearances, and his fame lasted decades after the last broadcast. Mr. Anderson later profited from writing advertising jingles, but live music remained his passion. He formed his All-American Big Band, expert musicians from recording studios and Broadway shows, playing a book of 300 songs, a quarter of which he wrote himself. The band plans to play its regular gig this Friday at the Birdland jazz club in Manhattan.

In 1990 John S. Wilson wrote in The New York Times, "Mr. Anderson's band is not merely recalling the days of great swing bands; it is doing so with freshness, polish and originality."

Mr. Anderson, who lived in South Salem, N.Y., is survived by his wife, Peggy; his sons Christopher, of Ridgefield, Conn., and Lewis Jr., of Providence, R.I.; and five grandchildren.

In 1987 Mr. Smith recalled the day Clarabell said goodbye. Unlike the first broadcasts, which were live, it had been taped earlier. When it was broadcast, he watched it with his family. "I looked at my son and he was crying," Mr. Smith said. "I looked at my wife and she was crying. I went straight to the country club where I played golf and shot the worst round of my life."

© 2006 The New York Times Company

In Other News....

Today is my birthday. On the 27th anniversary of my birth, I find myself thinking that it would be nice to have something profound or substantive to say about the past year of my life. But time, like so many drops of ranifall into the pond of one's life, accumulates imperceptibly, leaving us altered and enriched in subtle and often unquantifiable ways.

If pressed to account for the events of last year, I'd say this:
I hiked, walked, biked, snowboarded, and played tennis. I renewed a romantic family relic that I may someday drive without fear of its failure. I attended car shows and explored museums. I traveled to Australia and Israel. And all of it accompanied by my friends and family. I'm grateful to everyone who has brightened my world this past year.

If asked for my sense of things, I might respond that I'm comfortable in spite of my growing weariness. Almaden is still my home. I live here, I work here, and I teach here. I feel as though I'm a part of this community; and I hope I make a positive impact (especially on the kids I teach). But this comfort is also unsettling. Perhaps I am too comfortable. Maybe it's time to move on. But when? To where? For what? And most importantly, why?

I've wandered into a well worn path. Perhaps it's time to emerge from my comfortable cave abode and descend the hill back to the world beyond suburbia. Which way from here? I don't know, but it should be interesting.

MG Reassembly Update

After much toil, the MG is still incomplete. The struggles are too numerous and dull to bother listing here. However, I will tell you about two humorous incidents--because some things are so annoying you just have to laugh.

After finally conquering the blasted thermostat housing by successfully coupling it with the smog pump, one of the thermostat studs snapped in two as I was tightening it. This necessitated the removal of the now thoroughly stuck thermostat housing and another trip down to O'Connors for a new stud. Some hours later, I stood triumphant over the indifferent cooling system control housing.

Much later, after valve adjustments and spark plug installation, I was almost done with reassembly. All that remained to reattach was the air injection manifold. This looked to be realtively simple, requiring the mounting of four pipes directly into the head via nuts attached to the manifold. But two of the nuts simply would not thread in place. Lots of penetrating oil and posts the to MG BBS later, it was clear that I'd need a new manifold.

This was doubly annoying because, in addition of being costly, the air injection manifold doesn't actually do very much. It's supposed to route excess unexploded gas and fumes to the smog pump so that those emissions can mix with fresh air and fully complete their reaction before exiting to the outside world through the exhaust. If this indeed took place, it would make the emmisions much cleaner. Unfortunately, what it really does is dilute the fumes with fresh air making the emissions seem cleaner.

Fortunately, Brian had a few used manifolds to offer me. So I now have three air injection manifolds in my possesion. Hopefully I can mount one of them and avoid having to buy a new one.

San Francisco Chronicle Article

Another of my brother's close friends was in the paper the other day. While searching for a room in San Francisco, Eric's friend Michael answered a craigslist housing ad. Little did he know it would land him in the Chronicle.

If you were flipping through the Sunday San Francisco Chronicle Magazine over the weekend, you would have seen a full page picture of Michael staring at you while kneeling on a chair in the corner of a nondescript room. It turns out that the lister of the ad in search of a roomate had decided to make a photography project out the experience. A handful of the pictures he took of the respondents and their emails to him are included in the article.

Michael's picture and letter were given their own page in the Chronicle Magazine. The online version simply doesn't do it justice. It must be a little disconcerting to see yourself staring back at you from the page of a major print publication.

If the above links don't work, I've archived the article and picture.

Mother's Day

My brother and I took our mother out to Almaden Meadows park for an afternoon of kite flying and relaxation. Since my Mom is still recovering from knee surgery, Eric and I took up the burden of lofting the kite. Unfortunately, there's not very much wind in Almaden. This is exceptionally good for tennis, less so for kite flying.

Eric and I made a number of good runs at it in the stifling heat, but we were unable to keep the kite in the air for very long. There simply wasn't enough consistent wind. We paused at length to rest, talk, and have a catch.

At Eric's suggestion, we gave it one last try. Happily, he ran the kite high up into the swirling winds of the park. Although there were some dicey moments, we sucessfully flew the kite for almost an hour before bringing it in. Full credit to Eric and his superior kite flying skill for making the day a success.

MGs By the Bay and Manny's Bachelor Party

Rich accompanied me to MGs By the Bay today. Although there were fewer cars this year than last, almost every type of MG ever built was represented nonetheless.

Along with more than forty MGBs, there were about fifteen MGAs, perhaps 20 T-Series cars (TCs, TDs, and TFs), a few midgets, and a smattering of rarer cars. This last category included Dan's prewar PA (complete with flip out turn signals), a couple of Maganette Saloons, two racers, and a pair of beautiful Arnolt MGs.

Only 102 Arnolt MGs were ever built by Italian coachbuilders Giovanni and Nuccio Bertone for Stanley "Wacky" Arnolt. Though the Arnolt MGs are essentially TDs, they couldn't look more different. About sixty of these cars still exist today.

While wandering about the show Rich and I met a lovely woman who purchased her TD new in the early 1950s. She ordered it in England, had it delivered to the states, converted it from right hand drive to our standard left side drive, and later took it to Australia and Europe. Though the odometer read 83,000 miles, she intimated that it had rolled over more than once. More amazing yet, she claimed to have never had to perform any major rebuilding work in all that time. It was painted once--in 1956. It looked astoundingly beautiful, especially considering it's long history of use. She still drives it regularly along the backroads of the East Bay, in search of old barns to photograph.

Unsurprisingly, Brian O'Connor was also at the show. I wanted to tell him how the reassembly was going. Much to Rich's amusement, I never managed to actually enter into a conversation with him. I think he's growing a bit weary of my persistent novice questions.

Following the show, Rich and I proceeded to Manny's new apartment for a full day of video gaming. We arrived to find everyone in the midst of a team military game that was being simultaneously displayed by a large HD tv and projected onto the opposite wall by a high resolution projector, fed by a pair of networked XBox 360s. For an unknown period, now lost to time and space, Bob, Rich, and I watched Manny play a fishy arcade game from start to finish. Watching fish eat other fish accompanied by sound effects can be oddly entertaining (once). Later I took part in a few team games of FIFA 2006. I must say that the experience is definitely enhanced by a three-by-five foot projection. At one point three gaming systems were simultaneously in use playing three very different games.

Later in the evening, we made our way to Dave and Buster's for more video game mayhem. No sooner was the aforementioned fish game discovered than Manny plunked himself down in front of it. Sadly, this version was timed; so Mr. Moo had far less success. I, myself, played just one game--one round of air hockey. I'd like to say that I'm proud of my 7-3 victory over Sir rLog, but mostly I just let him beat himself.

After a noisy, but pleasant, dinner at D&B's, Rich and I headed back to Almaden to meet Scott at Starbucks. Now I'm not a big fan of Starbucks, but it was fairly late and there just aren't that many places to go around here. At least I finally got to make use of the Starbucks gift card that someone at the club gave me this past holiday season.

MG By the Bay:



MGBs:






MGAs:




T-Series:






Midgets:



Dan unloading his PA:



Arnolt MGs:

Despite My Best Efforts...

I will not be taking the MG to MGs By the Bay tomorrow. I just couldn't get the car back together in time. Though I'm a tad disappointed, I'll be attending the show nonetheless.

The head came back from the shop about one in the afternoon. An hour or two later, after collecting the head, parts, and some much needed advice from Brian, I was back home reinstalling the head.

Step one: Find Plans.

I spent a little while inspecting the parts, locating my tools, and going over the manual again. After a quick installation of the head studs and head gasket, I mounted the head in place. I then installed the thermostat, thermostat housing, and temp sender into the head. Then some much appreciated help arrived in the form of Rich.

Step Two: Save World.
....or, well, car.

I proceeded to torque the head and rocker arm in place. Note to self: remember to replace push rods before torquing head next time. So I had to loosen the head, install the push rods, and retorque the head. If nothing else, I gave Bob's new torque wrench a workout.

Somewhere in here we realized that I although I had bought entirely new head studs and hardware, I had not bought new rocker studs. This would have been fine but one of my old rocker studs was stripped and therefore unuseable. I'll have to pick one or two of those up on Monday.

Rich and I then struggled unsuccessfully to mount the thermostat housing to the smog pump. After about a half hour of failing to reconnect these parts, we decided to move on to the intake and exhaust manifolds.

The nuts holding the manifolds on were a real bear to remove. Replacing them wasn't going to be easy. But with Rich's help, it didn't turn out to be all that bad. Not that it was easy by any means, but having two people certainly simplified matters.

Having completed most of the tough stuff, we started to reconnect the remaining loose items. The air cleaners, hoses, etc. are all attached now. There was no way I was going to be taking the car tomorrow, so we stopped at nine pm.

After installing the new rocker stud and remounting the thermostat housing, the next order of buisness will be to adjust the valves. I've never done this before; and frankly I'm a little intimidated by the task. I know what I'm supposed to do, but I still feel uneasy.

If I can get the valves adjusted passably, then it'a just a a matter of replacing the rocker cover and changing the fluids. Which brings us to...

Step Three: Get Out of My House.
...and take the car to Brian for inspection and tuning.

I'm hoping to bring it in on Monday. Though I didn't manage to get the car ready for the show in time, it was a valiant effort.

A Dream Deferred

A Dream Deferred
by Langston Hughes

What happens to a dream deferred?

Does it dry up
like a raisin in the sun?

Or fester like a sore--
And then run?

Does it stink like rotten meat?
Or crust and sugar over--
like a syrupy sweet?

Maybe it just sags
like a heavy load.

Or does it explode?

And Did I Mention...

More things are broken. My garage door clicker died this week. And a persistent neighborhood cat has managed to undo some of my fence repairs.

Oh, and the MG remains immobile. The shop hasn't finished with the head. It doesn't look like I'll be driving the MG to the show.

Wall Street Journal Article

Here's an interesting article about mooching twentysomethings. Note the quotes by a certain Ms. Corry who lives with my brother.

If you have problems with the Wall Street Journal link, you can view an archived version of the article here.

Things Fixed and Broken

I've repaired many things recently. But for every thing I fix, it seems that something else breaks. In the past couple weeks I have reassembled the back fence, installed a new radio in the Camry, brought a laptop back from the dead, and taken care of a handful of other household tasks. Meanwhile, in the same period: both my bicycle hand pump and air compressor died, I broke the side lens on the MG by clipping the garage, and, in another strange garage accident, one of my racquets cracked.

MG Engine Head is Crack Free

Brian at O'Connor Classics just informed me that the machine shop says my engine head is in good shape. This is fantastic news. It means that my head can be rebuilt with the usual installation of hardened seats, valve guides, et cetera. After some clean up, I should be on my way. It also means that I'll be saving a bunch of money and time that would have gone toward getting a new engine head. With any luck, I'll have my car back together for the annual MGs By the Bay show at the San Leandro Marina on Saturday.

Bike Ride and BBQ

On Sunday Rich and I endeavored to ride the newly contiguous bike path from Almaden to downtown San Jose. I rode to Rich's place in great time, but I definitely pushed myself too hard. I really need to learn to pace myself when riding alone. Thankfully, I felt much better by the time Rich and I set out for downtown.

The new bike path is not one true path. Rather it is a series of paths connecting various VTA Transit stations. Although we were trying to avoid it, we ended up riding through traffic at most major intersections. Despite the uninspiring scenery of Highway 87, Capitol Expressway, and the like, we pressed on.

Unfortunately it turns out that the series of interconnecting paths isn't actually contiguous right now. Construction on 87 has overflowed onto the path just past Curtner Avenue. With the road ahead impassable, we briefly considered alternate routes to downtown. But, wishing to stay off of major thoroughfares, we decided to turn back.

So we rode all the way back down the Creek Trail to my house. We rolled along at a pleasant and comfortable pace, in sharp contrast to our usual hard charging runs.

Later the same day, we joined Bob and Izzy for a barbecue in Almaden Lake Park. Comically, despite usually being well prepared people, we all managed to forget to collect the necessary items for picnicing. Eventually we got our act together and walked out to the picnic grounds.

Luckily we happened upon a barbecue full of glowing coals. We were eating merrily in no time. After our pleasant dinner we retired to la casa de Sir rLog to watch the comedy classic, The Three Amigos. Following some infamous lines, we concluded the day with three rounds of of Spongebob tournament gaming.

Third A's game

I attended yet another free Oakland Athletics game on Saturday. This time the tickets came courtesy of my no longer misplaced friend Chris. He interned with A's media relations last year and, as a result, managed to obtain four free tickets. My brother and I happily accompanied Chris and his girlfriend Emily to the coliseum.

There's a common saying in baseball that in any game you might see something you've never seen before. The average game, however, usually bears no previously unseen plays--just the typical smattering of runs, hits, and errors. This particular game was a notable exception.

In the first innning, Jay Payton unexpectedly stole second base when Dan Johnson started walking confidently down to first after a 2-1 pitch. In response, Payton jogged to second. By the time the Devil Rays had noticed that the count was only 3-1, Payton was standing safely on second. Johnson eventually drew a walk.

After that, most of the game was routine enough. Barry Zito pitched well, allowing only a solo home run in seven full innings of work. Zito allowed just five other baserunners, three of whom were wiped out by double plays. But Seth McClung kept the Devil Rays in the game, holding the A's to two runs through six innings. A's reliever Justin Duchsherer denied Zito a win when he gave up a solo homer to pinch hitter Greg Norton in the eighth. Duchsherer finished out the inning and the game headed to the ninth in a 2-2 tie.

After Joe Kennedy set the D'Rays down in the top of the inning, the A's put runners on first and second with no outs in the bottom of the ninth. The A's were poised to win the game. And then, strangeness like I have never seen before on a baseball field.

Marco Scutaro hit a soft line drive up the middle; but instead of catching the ball, shortstop Julio Lugo let it bounce. This set up a force play at second and caught Jay Payton in a rundown between second and third. Payton made it back to second safely, just in time to notice Marco Scutaro standing on the bag. Since only one man has a right to the bag, Scutaro was declared out. The infield fly rule was not called, although it easily could have been. Two outs on a what would have otherwise been a typical line out. If you're scoring at home, the play went 6-4-5-6-4. Craziness.

This left the deflated A's with two down and a runner on second. When Jason Kendall hit a weak ground ball right to third baseman Aubrey Huff, we let out an exasperated sigh. Huff even appeared to breathe a sigh of relief, as he recognized the D'Rays were out of trouble. But he relaxed too soon and the ball rolled unimpeded through his legs and out into shallow left field. Although Payton was still between second and third when it happened, the game was over the instant the ball passed through Huff's legs. A's win three to two. I've never seen a game end quite that way before.

Eric and I celebrated the walk-off error until Payton touched the plate and then promptly started making our way out of the park. This caught our companions by surprise, as they were unused to our expedient exits. Five minutes later we were on the freeway headed back to San Francisco.

Washington Post Article

My father sent me this most amusing article:

Picasso And Me

By Art Buchwald
Thursday, April 20, 2006

This is the 50th anniversary of the day I crossed paths with Pablo Picasso. It came about in a strange way. I had written a column showing how absurd some of my mail had become.

One letter was from Philadelphia. It was written by a Temple University student named Harvey Brodsky. Harvey said he was in love with a girl named Gloria Segall, and he hoped to marry her someday. She claimed to be the greatest living fan of Picasso. The couple went to a Picasso exhibit and, to impress her, Harvey told Gloria that he could probably get the artist's autograph.

Harvey's letter continued, "Since that incident, Gloria and I have stopped seeing each other. I did a stupid thing and she threw me out and told me she never wanted to see me again.

"I'm writing to you because I'm not giving up on Gloria. Could you get Picasso's autograph for me? If you could, I have a feeling Gloria and I could get back together. The futures of two young people depend on it. I know she is miserable without me and I without her. Everything depends on you."

At the end of the letter, he said, "I, Harvey Brodsky, do solemnly swear that any item received by me from Art Buchwald (namely, Pablo Picasso's autograph) will never be sold or given to anyone except Miss Gloria Segall."

I printed the letter in my column to show how ridiculous my mail was. When it appeared, David Duncan, a photographer, was with Picasso in Cannes and Duncan translated it for Picasso.

Picasso was very moved, and he took out his crayons and drew a beautiful color sketch for Gloria Segall and signed it.

Duncan called and told me the good news.

I said, "The heck with Gloria Segall, what about me?"

David explained this to Picasso and in crayons he drew a picture of the two of us together, holding a glass of wine, and wrote on the top, "Pour Art Buchwald."

By this time, the Associated Press had picked up the story and followed through on the delivery of the picture to Gloria Segall. When it arrived special delivery in Philadelphia, Gloria took one look and said, "Harvey and I will always be good friends."

If you're wondering how the story ends, Harvey married somebody else, and so did Gloria. The Picasso hangs in Gloria's living room.

It was a story that caught the imagination of people all over the world. I received lots of letters after the column was published. My favorite came from an art dealer in New York, who wrote:

"I can find you as many unhappy couples in New York City as you can get Picasso sketches. Two girls I know are on the verge of suicide if they don't hear from Picasso, and I know several couples in Greenwich Village who are in the initial stages of divorce. Please wire me how many you need. We both stand to make a fortune."

Another letter, from Bud Grossman in London, said, "My wife threatens to leave me unless I can get her Khrushchev's autograph. She would like it signed on a Russian sable coat."

2006Tribune Media Services
© 2006 The Washington Post Company

MG Engine Head Removed

Success! The head came off with the aid of my experienced MGOC friend, Dan, and his wonderful tools. Unfortunately we ultimately had to result to the crowbar approach. Here's how it went:

Using his stud pullers, with a foot long wrachet, we managed to extract all but one of the remaining studs. The stubborn one was that infernal middle stud on the distributor side. The head still wouldn't move, even after some solid whacks for a serious lead hammer. I do think the hammer loosened it though.

Finally, we used a two foot long pry bar placed between the underside of the thermostat housing and top of the water pump. After some serious effort, the head finally broke loose. It took about an hour thereafter to whack, pry, and shimmy the head free of the block and remaining stud.

Once the head was out, it was clear that this was long overdue. The exhaust valve seats are severely recessed. So the head is now at the shop. I hope magnafluxing reveals that the head is crack free.

Bob and Christine Play the Glaviphone

Since Christine had not seen Bob's franken-horn, the glaviphone was brought out for a demonstration. For those not in the know, the glaviphone is something that Bob bodged together while learning to become the brass musical instrument repair specialist that he is today. As you can see, it is an odd assortment of tubing with two mouthpieces, a french horn bell, a trumpet bell, and some valves to allow selection of which bell(s) are to be used. After Bob demonstrated its....ummm...range, Christine joined in. The sound produced was truly awful, but very interesting.

Wrestling with the MG

I've spent most of my free time the past couple days trying to extract the MG's engine head for rebuilding. The compression was getting so poor that I couldn't get the car moving in first without revving it to 3,500 rpms and feathering the clutch. Since it makes no sense to keep continually paying to have the valves adjusted every couple months (and it looks like a fairly difficult thing for a relative newbie like myself to do effectively), I decided to address the underlying problem. In order to solve my ongoing compression issues, I need to get the head out of the MG and to a rebuilder who will check for cracks and replace the valve seats.

I say need rather than needed because, despite two days hard labor, I have not managed to remove it. I did manage to unfasten all the hoses, the valve cover, and the intake and exhaust manifolds. Though I bloddied up my hands pretty good in the process, that part was fairly easy (if time consuming). After removing all attached parts, I then removed the nuts that were torqued down onto the head. This should have freed the head. Unfortunately thirty years of oil muck and oxidation have frozen the head in place. I tried using the starter motor to dislodge the head, but no luck there. After querying the MG BBS, I found that the head studs are often the culprit. So I started to remove the head studs. After tons of penetrant and much work with the wratchet, I have removed all but four of the head studs. Sadly, those four are seriously stuck.

As of this moment, the head won't budge. A friend from the MGOC is coming to help me tomorrow. He's bringing a crowbar as a last resort.

In other automotive news, I finally have a working radio in the Camry again. Thanks to Sir rLog for his generous help with the installation.

Program Update

We now return you to your regularly scheduled silence.