What A Crapfest.

Yesterday I had the "pleasure" of watching about 5 minutes of The Tony Danza Show. In all fairness I should say that I was not an unbiased observer. I also had the "pleasure" of meeting Mr. Danza a few years back when he fell under my "protection" at work. I have to say that the assignment wasn't terribly difficult as Mr. Danza didn't exactly attract a crowd. However, it was highly annoying when he continually made uncomfortably strong advances towards a female coworker of mine. He even went as far as to kiss her hand. It was pathetic. Anyway, back to the five minutes of the show I saw. Tony spent the first few minutes telling the audience about the reruns of Taxi and Who's The Boss that he had watched that morning. Apparently the writers for both of those shows were awesome. What kind of pompous jerk uses his crappy talk show to brag about how great is previous crappy shows were? Perhaps the next segment of the talk show will answer that question. Tony had the Stanley Cup on the show. Oddly enough, the Stanley Cup was also under my "protection" at one point in time. If you have ever seen the Stanley Cup in real life you will know that it is always escorted by a white glove clad man named Mike. Mike is a pretty nice guy, but is also pretty anal about people touching the cup. The whole purpose of Mike is to keep human oils off of the cup. You can imagine how thrilled Mike looked when Tony Danza began to molest the cup in embarrassing fashion. To his credit Mike didn't say anything, but was obviously uncomfortable. Tony Danza, to his credit, picked up on it. Did Tony stop fondling the Stanley Cup? No. Instead, with his bare hands still on the cup, he told Mike that it was ok because he used to drink out of the cup when he partied with Chris Chelios (famous hockey player). Mike became red in the face. I turned off the TV.

So, to answer my above question, what kind of self aggrandizing jerk makes unwanted advances to members of his security detail, uses his crappy talk show to praise his previous crappy shows, and blatantly molests the Stanley Cup? David Hasselhoff. That's right, in my opinion Tony Danza has sunk to the level of "The Hoff" himself. The guy might as well make a Christmas dance mix album and market it in Poland.

My final question is this. How does The Tony Danza Show stay on the air? Who watches this crap? The crowd seemed to be made up of gay men and grumpy middle aged women. None of them looked happy. I wonder what contest they lost to get tickets. Seriously, the set and Danza's demeanor seems very geared towards the Oprah crowd, but does the Oprah crowd want to see the Stanley Cup? Doubt it. That's very much a guy thing. Also, who exactly cares what TV shows Tony Danza watches in the morning? Who isn't disturbed by the fact that he watches reruns of his old shows (and loves them)? Those shows sucked. Perhaps the most disturbing thing about the whole ordeal is how much it actually disturbed me. Yeah, I'm still ticked over 24 hours later. Maybe that puts me on the level of "The Hoff."

The Agony Of The Workday Mind.

My overstuffed coworker has advised me that we only have 1 hour and 50 minutes of work left! Well Yipee. He might as well have told me that we have 3 months left. 1 hour and 50 minutes with nothing to do but listen to him drone on about "The Leola Massacre." Don't get me wrong, six bodies found in one house is downright notable (at least FOX, CNN, and MSNBC think so), but it is too darn nice outside to worry about such things. My baby blue cycle is sitting at home just waiting for me. Today was supposed to be a gym day, but it would be a crime against humanity to lock myself away in that dungeon today. Its supposed to rain tomorrow. I can go to the gym then. Today I go on the hunt for the Fluorescent Flock. Who are the Fluorescent Flock? I will tell you.

Two days ago I took Pearl out for her final shakedown ride. We went for a gentle cruise on my favorite riding route down past TMI. I had finally dialed in the last minor adjustments and old Pearl was running fine. All that winter work is proving worthwhile as that bike is surprisingly fast. Anyway, I cruised along the river and past TMI (still haven't absorbed any super powers from that place, Gosh!). Before I knew it I had blown nearly half and hour and turned around to head home. After blasting down a hill at what I estimated to be close to 50 mph my eyes were blinded by a ghastly bright greenish light some distance ahead heading towards me. At first I thought I was seeing a UFO (Three beautiful glowing orbs!), but as the object drew nearer I could see that it too was riding some type of bicycle. Someone else had absorbed super powers from TMI!! Jerks! As we drew nearer together the object ahead of me split into two, and then three. It was then that I became aware that I was not seeing anything super natural at all. What I was seeing was three cyclists wearing identical long-sleeved fluorescent green shirts. As the three drew closer, two of them split off and turned onto a side road ahead of me, while the third continued in my direction. Now you must understand that I am a firm opponent of all forms of cycling snobbery. I give a friendly wave to all cyclists I meet on rides regardless of skill or style. In that spirit, as my green glowing compatriot approached, I extended my hand in a friendly wave, and was promptly snubbed. As much as I hate snobbery, I will occasionally accept it from someone riding riding a $3,000 Italian bike with shaved legs. By no means will I accept it from someone who wears a matching fluorescent jersey with his friends. I suppose that the appropriate response would have been to chase him down and make him sorry for not waving, but traffic was a bit too heavy for a quick u-turn, and it is a bit early in the season to risk life and limb over simple revenge. Instead I came up with a new punishment for that brightly colored snob. His friends would pay.

I pushed hard onto the side street and could see the fluorescent glow off on the horizon. "Don't fail me now," I quietly whispered to Pearl as I hammered away on her pedals. The glow began to get larger, and larger. Soon I could make out the riders. The one in front was a girl, but regardless, they both had impressive calves, and made me wonder if this was such a good idea after all. Then I noticed something that made me want to laugh out loud. They had rearview mirrors attached to the ends of their handle bars. Fluorescent green jerseys and rearview mirrors? I had stumbled across the cycling equivalent of Harry Potter fans! I was going to crush these nerds. I quietly slipped up behind them and matched their pace. The girl began to wave for me to pass with her hand. Wait. . . no. She was waving for an approaching car to pass. The car was still far off though. Ha!! She had opened the window for my assault. I danced on Pearl's pedals as I sailed by the duo. They faltered in surprise and could only watch as I turned off at the next intersection. Ah, sweet revenge.

So now my bloated coworker is instructing me to ignore a written government directive because somebody told him that somebody told them that we don't do that anymore. I hope I find the Fluorescent Flock again today because they are gonna get shredded.

Training For The Kestle Run.

One of the perpetual questions of my life was answered last night around midnight as I was gliding around town on my newly overhauled Raleigh. Am I cursed to live my entire life staring at bicycles on the internet that are nicer than mine? Yes I am. Not because I can't afford a really nice bike. I could go out and buy my dream 2006 Raleigh Supercourse tomorrow, or I could squirrel away my money for months on end and eventually purchase some sleek Italian machine that is vastly more bicycle than I would ever need. But alas, I won't. I have fallen in love with my crusty old Raleigh. I didn't mean to fall in love. The plan was to fix her up and keep her on the road until after I got married, then I would implement one of the above plans. But sometime during the long winter months, while sanding off the rust and scrubbing away the grime, we made a connection. I've now come to the conclusion that although a brand new bike would be nice, it just wouldn't be the same. I wouldn't sit on my floor and stare at her finer points. I wouldn't tinker away for hours over some minute detail that would have no effect on riding quality whatsoever. I wouldn't waste away weekends downing Yuengling and listening to Johnny Cash while undertaking some mammoth repair that could have been solved by $10 and a trip to the bike shop. In the end I guess I just wouldn't be happy if I had a bike that I was happy with. I should say that she isn't completely finished yet. There are a few minor adjustments that need taken care off, an essential part I forgot to install, and a cosmetic item that hasn't arrived yet, but overall she is totally rideable. After all of the aforementioned are completed I plan on borrowing a digital camera from the in-laws and posting some pictures for you all. After that I will need to choose a name. She used to be called "Pearl," but some changes make that name seem a tad delicate now. Until then I will start to whittle off my winter parsecs and might take in some more midnight rides, that was fun. Here's my latest object of obsession it is widely regarded as the finest bicycle seat in the world and retails for around $60. Wedding gift anyone?

Oh, Moneypenny.

I'm watching a James Bond marathon at work. Bond just got married and informed his wife that he "had the gadgets and intended to use them." I'll have to remember that one for my honeymoon. Hopefully my honeymoon doesn't end the same way Bond's did. His wife got capped by some evil henchmen. Bond seemed ok with it though. Anyway, that brings me to the point of my post. If you had to come up with a list of movies that contributed to making you the person that you are today, what would the be? Obviously the entire James Bond series plays a key role in the early life of any male in living in the free world. But what other films are out there? Here is my list.

The initial nod has got to go to Ferris Bueller's Day Off. I actually never saw this movie until my senior year of High School, oddly enough while I was home for a sick day. I couldn't help but feel that every moment of my life before that day had been wasted. Ferris taught us all that it is possible to skip a day of school without turning into a drunken deadbeat pothead. His cavalier attitude towards authority and responsibility revolutionized my worldview.

Next I am going with Navy SEALs the 1980s version starring Charlie Sheen. In a strange way Navy SEALs is similar to Ferris Bueller's Day Off. Hawkins, Sheen's character, exhibits a similar levity in attitude to Bueller's. Granted, Bueller was only dealing with a single day of High School while Hawkins was tracking Stinger missiles through the Middle East, but hey its only a movie right? Navy SEALs also taught me that shooting things could be a viable career path. Didn't work out so much in reality though.

Chariots of Fire and The Mission provide some faith based maturity to the list. Chariots deals with issues of faith and integrity, while The Mission is all about the power of forgiveness. The Mission also began my love affair with De Niro and segways nicely into the historical portion of my list.

Winds of War and War and Remembrance are excellent primers for WWII history. I was steeped in these two TV miniseries from the earliest age. They impressed upon my the epic ebb and flow of history along with the incalculable impact that WWII has had on the world, even to our current times.

Patton goes along with the historical theme. Anyone who truly watches this movie has to come away with an appreciation of Patton's impressive knowledge of history. He has helped me realize how important historical knowledge can be. We truly can learn from the mistakes of others. By far the most important thing I learned form Patton is this. When in doubt, Attack!!

I end my list with the greatest film ever made, Casablanca. Yes, I am aware that there is an alarming amount of characters on this list that just don't give a crap. What can I say about Casablanca? Humphrey Bogart is just awesome. The whole sticking it to the man theme is timeless. Add on to that the fact that "the man" is Nazi Germany. Just a great movie. It also includes the only appropriate use of the "Les Marseillaise" in all of history.

Another Story To Add To My List

So I got a little lazy today and didn't want to make lunch. I decided to walk down to my local pizza place and get an Italian sub. A few minutes after taking my order the girl behind the counter looks down at my sub and says, "Hm, that smells bad."

The Witch's Curse Is Broken!!

I know that Matt posted a few days ago lamenting the end of winter. I am now posting to celebrate the end of winter! My long hibernation is over! I would have posted on this earlier, but I have just been too busy. I'm racing to get my Raleigh back into riding condition, spending as much time as possible outdoors, and reveling in the annual return of F1. Incidentally, Bahrain GP results are up on Rover's Racing. But alas, spring is slowly springing. I inevitably get myself into some sort of funk over the winter, and never really feel myself until spring. Granted, we could still have a few weeks of winter left, but the writing is on the wall.

In other news, my political campaign is in full swing. I had to meet with the Bilderbergers again. Apparently I wasn't supposed to go public with the whole "invade New Jersey" thing. Those guys are so uptight. You'd think they ran the world or something. Anyway, I have also instructed my hairdresser to come up with a tactical response plan in the event that polling information shows that voters feel I would look better with a mullett. Remember, vote Rover on May 16th!

I'm Famous!!!

I have received two, that's right two, emails from Scarlet Johansen. Apparently she wants to give me her Motorola SLVR phone for free! I'm not sure why exactly, but when your blog is as wildy popular as mine famous people often want to do strange things for you. I don't know if this is some bizarre attempt to ask me to dinner or what, but I'm not really interested Scarlet. However, if your phone has Lindsay Lohan's number in it we might be able to work something out.

Q Is For Qwerty Who Tells Us The Truth.

The most culturally relevant statement Veggie Tales has ever made. Qwerty does tell us the truth. And while we are dropping knowledge on each other, here is a tidbit for all you single guys. Someday you will meet a nice a girl and decide that she is less aggravating than any other girl you have yet to encounter. The relationship will blossom and grow and get "serious." Marriage will be thought of, discussed, and planned. At some point in this process you will find yourself with your fiance at your place of residence and she will make a statement that sounds something like this, "After we get married you'll have to come up with a better system for determining which pile of laundry is clean and which pile is dirty." When this happens, and it will happen, do not under any circumstances respond with, "So, you mean just asking me isn't going to work for you?" Trust me, it isn't.

Also

As the relationship progresses you may find yourself in another "hypothetical" situation. You will be using the restroom (your place, her place, doesn't really matter) and she will be standing outside the door urging you to hurry because she also has to go. In this situation it may seem like a good idea to ask her to rate her current bathroom need on a scale of 1 to 10 (1 being no bathroom need at all, 10 being urinating on yourself). Trust me, this is always a good idea. However, when she answers with, "Probably a 7 or an 8" do not under any circumstances answer with, "Oh! So you still have two points to go then?"

Also

At some point in the relationship you will become bored. Not with her, just bored in general. At this time it might seem like a good idea to begin expressing your current needs in command form ended with the word "woman," stated loudly. For example:

"Get me a drink, Woman!"
"Put my shoes on for me, Woman!"
"Floss my teeth, Woman!"

While these statements do end the boredom, they seldom result in the desired actions being carried out, and in some cases lead to a direct kick to you back (ask Protienstar). Just something for you single guys to keep in mind.

Oh Jacobellis, What Were You Thinking?

I just had to dedicate a post to the US Curling Team who secured a Bronze Medal this morning in Torino. Fenson, Rojeski, Shuster and Polo defied expectations of mediocrity to bring the US its first ever medal in curling. This quirky little sport caught my attention at the beginning of the year's games, and quickly had me enthralled. The game is more complex than I ever could have imagined, and has a huge international following. The Bronze Medal Round was interrupted by a streaker running across the ice, prompting a cacophony of laughter from the participants. Perhaps the best thing about the sport is that it isn't carried out by egotistical superstars. Fenson owns a pizza shop in Bemidji, Minnesota. Rojeski and Polo are engineers, and Shuster works at Home Depot. The team members, of all the teams actually, behaved a complete gentleman throughout every match I watched. At the Olympics every Curling participant wears a microphone that is turned on for the entire match. Some of those guys are downright funny. Anyway, congrats to the team and I look forward to cheering them on again in four years.

Vote Rover Update

After having met with the Bilderbergers and The Skulls I have finalized my gubernatorial campaign platform. Things have changed a bit since I initially announced my candidacy. My chief selling point in the campaign was going to be my proposed invasion of New Jersey. However, early polling information shows that the average Pennsylvanian does not want New Jersey. More accurately, they do not want all of New Jersey. PA residents do want beach front property. New Jersey has a large amount of beach front property. So how do we get New Jersey's beach front property without encumbering ourselves with the rest of the state? Paratroopers. That's right, a strategic drop on the coast line would provide our residents with an island like paradise just a few hours from home. Some might ask where our state will acquire said paratroopers, as we currently don't have any. This is a good time to bring up my economic stimulus package. By increasing our manufacturing capacity to meet the needs of the new military units we can create more jobs in PA and stop the outflow to other states. Planned manufactured surplus can be sold of to small third world countries embroiled in conflicts with their own populace. How will we fund this massive industrial push? It is a bit of a complex process, but I will attempt to explain. First we will sell Philadelphia to New Jersey (we can always take it back later, if we want to). Using the funds from the "Philly Transaction" we will produce enough military units for an invasion of Maine. Why Maine? Maine in itself may appear to be a massive woodland occupied entirely of rednecks and potheads that has no actual value. This is true when we consider the values of the average hard working Pennsylvanian. However, to the Canadians Maine is a land of long lost friends and relatives. It is a veritable gold mine. We will sell Maine to the Canadians county by county. More profit that way. With these funds we will be able to complete our invasion. If elected this fall I promise the people of Pennsylvania that we will be basking on the beach by Spring!

Eventually We All Realize That We're Dorks.

As much as my income and schedule permit I try to live an exciting life. Sometimes on purpose, sometimes not. I've willingly shared the water with a tiger shark off the coast of Mexico, and not so willingly fought a cobra for the rights to a basketball court in Nigeria. I've frequently been popular with the ladies, and seldom passed on an adventure. I always thought of myself as a pretty hip guy. That misconception came shattering to the ground this past Monday night. I found myself in the smoke-filled back room of a bar that was frighteningly close to the Three Mile Island power plant. I was there to watch a coworker's dart tournament, but quickly found myself more enthralled with the kid in the corner nursing a Miller Lite. He couldn't have been a day over fourteen. The tournament was uninspiring, and was predictably won by the pony-tailed behemoth who had to be on vacation from the WWE. Was he the best player? No, but he was the biggest. As I sat there, I began to realize that the fourteen year old in the corner was not getting the attention that I thought he may have deserved. In fact, most of the attention was directed towards me. I guess my first mistake was the Corona. If it comes from Mexico, is the color of goat urine, and must be consumed with a lime you can assume it will not be welcome at your typical "down home" bar. My next mistake? Not learning from the looks given after the first mistake. By ordering Coronas #2 and #3 I ensured that no one in the room missed noticing my drink of preference. As the room slowly chilled to my presence, my mind began to wander. Eventually my thoughts settled on my home DVD collection. If I left the bar immediately I could still get home in time to watch my newly acquired documentary on Benedict Arnold. That's when it hit me. I am a dork. I could have thrown down a twenty, order shots of Jack all around, and been a local hero by morning. Instead I threw on my jacket and rushed home to watch a video about a guy who died 200 years ago. If my fellow bar goers had only known. I deserved the looks. Not because of the Corona, but because I am a nerd, a tool, a book reader. I hang my head in shame.

Heart of Darkness On Speed.

I just finished reading Ugly Americans by Ben Mezrich. Mezrich claims its the true story of John Malcolm (not the dude's real name), an American who made millions trading stocks on the Asian markets in the 1990s. On the one hand I find the story a bit hard to believe because it is just so wild. This stuff is movie material. Malcolm and his cohorts flaunted million dollar portfolios, raced Ducatis and Ferraris, dated Japanese supermodels, and didn't even blink when coworkers went down with billions in debt. The story is almost unbelievable because I just can't relate to that world. Who wrecks a Ducati at 140mph while fleeing Yakuza gangsters, returns to work in two days, and is back out racing a brand new (literally hours old) Ferrari less than a year later? These guys worked and lived by a set of rules, the final and most telling is "The ends justify the means, but there's only one end that really matters. Ending up on a beach with a bottle of champagne." On the other hand the story is incredibly believable. John Malcolm turns out to be a really good guy who got caught up in his boss's twisted variation on the American Dream. Their relationship was a painful reminder of one of my previous employers. In the end the story is about a kid from New Jersey who didn't want to lead the typical lifestyle, found out that the hotshot life isn't all its cracked up to be, and made out very well in the process. It is a very entertaining book if anyone wants to borrow it, but don't if you can't handle a smattering of profanity and immorality.

The Plane IS Guarded By Navy SEALs

Last night Brechty and I were treated (?) to the film Into The Blue. Yeah. Bad. If not for the beautiful Jessica Alba the entire film seemed pointless. In fact, Jessica Alba was the only cast member that Brechty and I wouldn't have fired had we been in charge of the film. The costume director would have stayed as well. I do have to say that the cinematography was quite stunning, and not just because of Alba. I recommend this film for all to see for one reason alone. The deleted scenes. Specifically one scene entitled "Ambush at the Trailer." In this scene Alba and her beau return to their trailer to find a strange man ransacking it. There is a humorous door hitting head shot followed by a short foot chase. By short I mean about three seconds. In that amount of time the mystery attacker manages to cross about 70 feet of water, get into a boat, and start the engine before his pursuer even reaches the water's edge. The kicker? The surface of the water remains mirror calm. The creators of this film unknowingly discovered the greatest jumper of our time!!

Summer Trips

If you haven't checked in awhile scroll down for new posts. I'm trying to get an email list together of people who are interested in outdoor/adventure activities this summer. If those of you that are interested could email me at hprover47@hotmail.com I will add your name to the list. Hopefully I will be able to announce activities in time for people to plan accordingly. Anyway, enjoy the new posts and always vote Rover!!

Ah, The Germans.

Last night I spent the evening at a birthday party for a friend of the fiance's. Not especially bloggable in itself, but I met two new German friends at the party. For many of you the previous sentence brings about vivid (ok, very blurred) memories of a cold night in Brooklyn with two drunken Germans, a sleeping Italian, and one American loudly screaming "SCORE!!!!" The similarities were not lost on me either. My new acquaintances were named David and Marcell (which, according to David, is a dog's name). I discovered something very interesting about my two new friends. David grew up in West Germany, and Marcell in East Germany. David is a carpenter, Marcell owns a very profitable business (yeah, I know, and he's my age!). The interesting thing was that there was a very obvious role reversal. David openly criticized Marcell for his frequent vacations and "business trips" to Europe. Marcell defended that, as the owner of a company, he is working all the time (and would tap his temple every time he said this) and has much to think about. Eventually the conversation deteriorated to the point of Marcell scolding me for not being a McLaren fan, and David for being a Schalke '04 fan. David mainly scolded Marcell for having a dog's name. I just enjoyed the German beer. Anyway, fun times all around and Marcell wants to catch an F1 race sometime. Should be interesting.

Vote Rover!!!

I know many of you are waiting for the results of the latest Formula De race on Rover's Racing World. I promise you I have scheduled it in after dinner so they will be up tonight. However, I now have a matter of more pressing (read entertaining) importance. A coworker has encouraged me to start a write-in campaign for Pennsylvania Governor. I figure why not? So here it is. I am officially announcing my candidacy for Pennsylvania Governor in 2006. I view myself as the people's candidate. While others are hobnobbing with the gambling lobby and other heavy hitters, I am keeping it real with my immigrant friend at the 7-11 and that lady that stamps my electric bill at the borough office. While I do not have any influential family members, and never belonged to the Free Masons, I feel that we can really make a run at this thing. So remember, write me in on May 16th!! I will provide further details on my platform in later posts.

I'm a Picker, I'm a Grinner, I'm a Lover, and I'm a Sinner.

Most of you are already aware that I have a "problem" with bicycles. I guess that the basic issue is that I love bikes, they more frequently do not love me. When I was younger my BMX disobeyed a direct order and ran me into the side of a parked car. Several years ago when I was riding "professionally" my bike intentionally hit the only rock in the road, sending me sprawling down a hill at 20 mph, and leaving the driver of a minivan desperately attempting to avoid hitting me. The latter incident left me without the ability to walk for about 15 minutes (and without the desire for about 3 days), but some credit should be given to the bike. That accident set in motion events that lead me to meet my future wife. While those old stories are great, my current cycling problem involves a 1970s Raleigh road bike, and my attempts to rebuild it. Initially things went well. I began my efforts by disassembling and overhauling the hubs of the front and rear wheels. The front was easy, but to get to the hub on the rear you need to remove the cogs and freewheel (the grouping of gears on the rear wheel). This required the purchase of a special tool. Being my father's son I relish any job that requires one to buy new tools, but was greatly disappointed in the amount of time it took this tool to arrive. Needless to say, when it did arrive I began the job in earnest. The procedure was quite simple, place the tool in position, attach a suitable wrench, and apply force in a counterclockwise direction. The manual said that it might require considerable force to remove the freewheel, so I wasn't all that surprised when It didn't come off immediately. After my fourth attempt I was beginning to get a bit frustrated. The manual also suggested that, for added leverage, you could place the wheel in a vise. I do not own a vise, but my future father-in-law does. I packed up my items and headed over to the fiance's house. Upon arrival I made an interesting and, in hindsight, important discovery. The vise was not mounted on the table with bolts, but was instead held in place with "C" clamps. Undeterred, I mounted the wheel in the vise, and applied counterclockwise pressure. The freewheel did not budge, but the vise began to slide across the table under the pressure. I tightened the clamps and tried again, and again. On my third attempt I heard a loud crack, and was dismayed to find that my freewheel was still firmly affixed to the hub of my bicycle, but the force of my turning had broken one of the clamps. Embarrassed, I promised to replace the clamp and returned home. I began to wonder if I wasn't missing a step somewhere, and decided that I should disassemble the entire hub unit with the exception of the freewheel and cogs, a procedure that was not recommended in the manual. The rest of the parts came apart with ease and I was quickly looking down at the wheel's bearings. I didn't notice anything additional in the structure that would alter the removal process, but decided that I would go ahead and remove the bearings awhile while I was in there. The fact that the freewheel was still in place made it difficult to reach the bearings and I quickly found myself poking at them with a screwdriver. Out of the corner of my eye I noticed one of my favorite tools. It is one of those multi-bit screwdrivers where the end is a hexagonal hole that you can place a variety of different bits into. What caught my eye was that the hexagonal hole appeared to be about the same size as the bearings. I could slide it overtop of a bearing and then push the bearing out of position and into my awaiting grease pan! The plan worked brilliantly for the first several bearings, but as I was removing the final one I heard an ominous click. I must have an exceptional eye for size, because that bearing fit perfectly into the end of the screwdriver. The problem? I forgot that the screwdriver is magnetic. I now had a bearing stuck firmly at the far end of that hexagonal hole rendering useless the bearing, the screwdriver, and ultimately the entire rear wheel of my bicycle. I attempted to remove the bearing using some small nails, refrigerator magnets, and a tweezers with no success. Eventually I just went to bed. In one day my mechanical idiocy had destroyed a clamp, a set of bearings, a screwdriver, and my entire rebuild project. The next day things got a little better, but not great. The bearing issue was resolved by a coworker and an electromagnet (yes, we have electromagnets at work), and the freewheel was taken to my local bike shop, something I hate to do. I will keep you updated as my project further degrades toward the inevitable point of total failure.

Plain Old Funny

Here is Skippy's List of things he's not allowed to do in the military. Very funny. The Game Night Crew should also explore his site because he has a great idea for a zombie survival board game.

If You Only Watch One More Movie Before You Die.

Suddenly, a mob was rushing toward him, shouting and cheering and struggling
madly to reach him, to make sure that he was alive, to touch him, and from the
touch to know again the miracle of living, to be men in their own right, freed
from bondage, outcast no more, liberated, their faith in God's mercy justified,
the nobility of mankind vindicated, justice at last accomplished and tyranny
once more overcome. Men wept, unable to restrain themselves. Men with tears
streaming down their faces kissed the GI on both cheeks - the salute of
brothers.

Citizen Soldiers is finished. As it became clear to me that the end was near I began to ask myself, "What will I do now?" A question that the common WWII GI did not ask himself. He knew exactly what he would do because he had spent months and years huddled in cellars and foxholes thinking about that exact thing. The book itself is defined by the final chapters. After pages of endless combat that leave the reader feeling dirty and tired, the work ends with a distinct message of goodness and hope, making the story as a whole incredibly valuable, if not essential, to read. I recommend it to all.

Speaking of distinct messages of goodness and hope, if you can only watch one more movie in your life watch I Am David, its the story of a young boy who escapes from a Soviet concentration camp with a letter that he must get to Denmark. That's about all I can say without giving up the plot, but it is one of the best movies I have ever seen. My Dad recommended it to me and he certainly did a great job.

To answer the question of "What will I do now?" I have just started reading The Journals of Jim Elliot. I received the book as a Christmas (or should I say Holidays) present from my sister. For those of you who don't know, Jim Elliot was a missionary to the Auca Indians in Ecuador in the 1950s. The Aucas murdered Elliot, turning him into an international hero. I must say that I have been sadly disappointed with the first thirty pages. I do, however, remain optimistic. The first journals were written while Elliot was in college, and let's be honest, weren't we all a bit disappointing in college?

Hello My Pretties

My enormously huge office clock now reads 0448, meaning that I am well into hour 13 of my most recent workday marathon. I have attempted to use my time to make a final push to finish off Citizen Soldiers, but my weary mind just can't make sense of the words anymore. I must hand it to Ambrose, it took my over 350 pages to find a point of contention with him. Which may be a record for me. You know, you can call George Patton a lot of things, pompous, jerk, downright strange, but please, please, don't call him chickens*#t. Other than that the book is top notch. You may wonder why I haven't finished the book yet seeing that I've been reading it for months. The answer is that I only read it at work. There are a few benefits to my job (other than the ludicrous holiday pay policy).

Also in the entertainment world, I caught a screening of Munich last weekend. I think that I was looking forward to this movie more than most since I have been a fan of the story ever since I was a young boy sitting on my Baba's knee. You see, while most young red blooded American boys were being raised on tales of famous athletes (I'd list names but I don't know any), I was raised on tales of Churchill, Ben Gurion, and the infamous "Pug" Henry. I was aware of the epic of Munich long before the story met its end in the 1990s (a fact that the film doesn't mention). The film itself was excellent. It further supports my belief that any movie under two hours long just isn't worth your time. Beyond the historical story that I feel had to be told, Munich tells of the personal cost of killing, and does it very well. If you've seen the film, and want to know more about the psychological end of things I highly recommend On Killing by Lt. Col. David Grossman. Anyway, its a great film, very dark, but great.

To top off the evening I will regale you with reports of my feats in bowling. I have reached the end of the season for my league and leave the boards behind as the proud owner of one brand-new bowling ball, and a high score of 94. I am awesome.