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  • The invention of everything

    The invention of everything

    invention

         It’s easy to take our modern, convenience filled world, for granted. Innovation and technology have not only changed the pace of the daily experience to one that is faster and ever interconnected, but it also has taken the once sharp edges of life and rounded them down smooth. Life today is easier than it once was. Which makes it extremely convenient for us to forget that most of what we now take for granted — what are today considered the baseline of modern life — are largely thanks to a handful of visionary pioneers.

         Martin Renee from Utica member station WTVI, reports …

    “The problem with stories like mine,” Tom Protraska tears the cruller from his plate in two and then eats both pieces — first with his right hand and then with his left. “Is that it —. It worked so well that that nobody remembers — or even really cares about — what it was like — before.”

    Tom is a very thin man; weighing in at around 150 pounds on his six foot frame. And according to his Wikipedia page, he is 79 years old — even though he tells everyone that he is five years younger. Tom is bald with a penchant for white oxford shirts that he wears tucked in tightly.

    Tom and I met at a Utica diner where we discussed his life after he left the world limelight. It’s a relatively quiet routine now. His days are largely spent with his wife Gretchen and their pug Max. They garden, they visit their grandchildren and Tom gets in some fishing a few times a year.

    But in 1965, Tom Protaska’s life was much more chaotic. Because this is when he became a worldwide sensation by first inventing — air.

    “Nobody believed it would work.” Tom signals to the waitress with his empty coffee cup. “We were all breathing hydrogen and methane back then and had been since the beginning. And everyone was —. I don’t’ know, okay with it, I guess. I mean, how can you miss what you didn’t have, right? And yeah, the Swedes were playing around with this — this Xenon mixture for years. But they could never make it work.”

    But Tom had an idea — or more like a gnawing obsession — that there had to be a better gas for humans to breathe. So after three long years of tinkering in his home garage in Utica, Tom Protaska became the very first person, ever, to breathe in a mixture of oxygen, nitrogen and carbon dioxide. Or what we now commonly refer to as — air.

    “I just stood there for a few minutes — breathing it in and out — and I couldn’t believe it.” Tom’s watery eyes become youthful again as he recounts the story. “I wasn’t bleeding from my ears, or throwing up, or convulsing like I always had been before — from taking in all that hydrogen and methane that we all used to breathe. I was just — breathing. Easily, in and out. And it was — working. It was really working. And that’s when I knew that I had something.”

    But the members of the scientific community were skeptical.

    “There were still regulations back then,” Tom stirred his coffee and reminisced. “Nothing like there is today, but there were hoops to jump through and you really needed to get with the big boys if you wanted to get anything done on a large scale. I had no idea how to do that. So I just made the stuff and sold it out of my house.”

    Word spread quickly and soon Tom Protaska was earning more money selling his product part time, then he was at his full time job with the Post Office. So he left his job to make his living by manufacturing air.

    “The problem was,” Tom folds his hands across his chest. “That I never patented the stuff. So it didn’t take long for others to figure out how I did it.”

    And then the competition came.

    By 1968, air had replaced hydrogen as the global standard for human and animal breathing gasses. But by then, worldwide production was at it’s peak and Tom’s garage operation couldn’t compete with the ever plummeting competitive market price.

    “I had few options at that point. So I went back to work at the Post Office.”

    Since 1985, air has fallen under the public domain and is now available for free in all but three countries. There is no longer a North American market for it.

    And of the 320 million people living in the United States today, over 200 million of them have never lived in a world that breathed anything but air — or even had to pay to breathe it.

    “Ah, what can you do?” Tom looks dreamily out the diner window. “The same thing happened to Brennon.”

    Brennon, of course, refers to Lyle Brennon, the inventor of — gravity. Who in 1957, was able to patent his famous invention — but with limited success.

    “He wasn’t looking at the big picture — at all.” Maureen Brennon, Lyle’s widow, spoke to us by phone from her Kings River, Virginia home. “Lyle knew he had discovered something — something really big — with that gravity thing. But he only patented it for use in sports. He didn’t see any real need for it anywhere else.” Maureen sighed as she gathered her thoughts. “That was dumb.”

    The invention, and then worldwide use, of gravity is the key historic driver that lead to ‘The Ground Revolution’ of 1958. It was the paradigm shift that allowed the world to construct, interact and make a living on the surface, rather than the space above it.

    “It changed everything.” Martin Brille is the chief economists at the University of New Mexico.

    “When gravity came along, we basically threw away the old playbook. Everything was different. And everything was now possible.”

    Grille estimates that if gravity was still in the hands of the private sector, the worldwide global market would tip 300 trillion dollars.

    And as I sat in Charlie’s Diner in Utica with Tom Protaska, we discussed the changes that he and a handful of his counterparts made to the world. I asked him if it was all worth it.

    Tom’s smile was bright now. “Are you kidding?” He leans across the table towards me. “Breathe. In and out.”

    I do.

    He sits back and places his thin hands behind his head. “Well, then —-. You’re welcome.”

    For Utica member station WTVI, this is Martin Renee.

  • How to build a fire.

    How to build a fire.

    fire

    Barbara Streisand, Ricky Gervaise, Daniel Radcliffe, Tina Fey and Barbara Walters. What do they all have in common?

    Well, they are all successful, recognizable names in their own fields but there is something else that binds them together.

    Ready?

    None of them can drive a car.

    These are very prosperous, highly motivated people that have achieved so much in their lives but have never mastered one of the skills that most of us learn at 16 years old — now some of this has to do with living in places like London or New York where driving is actually a detriment, but for others it has to do with simply not having an interest in driving.

    So, can you be successful without learning to drive a car? Yup. Sure. You can work around it.

    And can you go through life without knowing how to build a fire? Yup. Sure. You can work around that too.

    But there will come a time — whether in the woods, in a cabin , or even in a survival situation — where you’ll need to. And knowing how means that you don’t have to ask someone for a ride.

    THE GOLDEN RULE OF BUILDING A FIRE.

    There is one thing —- one single entity — that is the single most important part of  building a fire and the one that has the most impact. It’s also the first rule that’s ignored. It’s that you are building a fire. Not starting one, arranging one or finding one. But building one.

    I’ve been on camping trips where I’ve seen guys throw a pile of sticks on the ground and light it and then get frustrated when a fire doesn’t magically appear.

    You are building a fire. Constructing it. You are creating layer of light material that can be lit easily that will then light other slightly larger material which will then light slightly larger material in a precise manner so heat is created and larger pieces of wood can be burned. This is a constructing project not cooking.

    Don’t be in a hurry. Take your time and get the foundation done and the fire will happen.

    Years ago I was on a two day survival weekend with a group of people on Hiawatha Island in New York and one of our challenges was to build a fire with a battery and steel wool and then get a can of water to boil. Now as soon as the timer began — we were all racing against each other — we all scrambled to get materials. Now the guy who lit the fire last, the one who spent the most time on the construction of the fire, is the one who succeeded first. His fire went up quickly and efficiently and he actually worked less on the maintenance of the fire because his foundation was so solid.

    BUILDING A FIRE

    Whether your building a fire in a fireplace, a pit, a stove or a camp the rules are all the same. You will need three types of wood:

    1. Tinder — pine needles, paper, dry leaves, dried grass, birch bark
    2. Kindling — small sticks under 1″, pine cones, bark, wood shavings.
    3. Fuel — sticks larger than 1” in diameter.

    So your tinder goes in the basement of your construction project, the kindling above it and then the fuel either above that or added on once the fire gets going.

    1. Loosely pile the tinder in the center of fire pit or on yoru firegrate/stove. Be sure there is air around it for fuel.
    2. Add the kindling around the tinder so it catches. The two ways to do this are in a teepee — best for camp fires — or a frame, where you have large pieces off to the side and the kindling in the center. You can place the fuel on the edge but don’t rush it, you can always add the fuel when the kindling is hot.
    3. Light the tinder.
    4. Add more tinder as the fire grows — you want the flame to be high at first so it catches
    5. Then add more kindling — rule of thumb is get twice as much as you think you need. Remember kindling is more important that fuel. Getting the fire hot means you can add larger and ever wetter pieces later but not getting it hot means it has a chance of going out.
    6. Add fuel.

    Experiment and play around. Building a fire should be something you’re confident in doing and may come in pretty handy someday.

  • You Choose

    You Choose

    chose

    In Oneonta, New York, on the corner of Main and Church Street, there once sat a bar called Red’s Filling Station. Now this was a great place. The outside was covered in red painted stone. The inside had walls and ceilings filled with vintage gas pumps, motorcycles, and license plates — this was long before the TGI Friday style became so common. Red’s wasn’t named for the color but for the owner, a crotchety upstater who breezed in once a week to complain about the ice usage and sign our paychecks. It was the most loud, crazy, and popular watering hole in that part of the Catskills, and was where several of my friends and I worked as bartenders one summer.

    Now one night — this would have been somewhere in July or August of 1985 — my roommate Kurt and I realized that, well, not only was our rent due the next day, but collectively we were $84 short. So we came up with a plan — a quick and creative plan that had only one moving part. We would make all the money we needed that night in tips. And we would do this by simply telling the customers what we wanted them to tip us.

    The doors opened, our shift began, and soon the bar was two feet deep with summer college kids and townies, all clamoring to get drinks.

    I went first.

    “Okay, two beers,” I sat the drinks down on the bar in front of a guy in the Sammy Hagar t-shirt. “That’ll be a buck-fifty for the beer and a dollar tip. So two-fifty total.”

    And Sammy Hagar dropped the cash and made way for the next customer.

    “Okay,” Kurt yelled out. “Here ya go. Two vodka cranberries and a Molson. Four-fifty and with the tip that will be six bucks.”

    And it went on like this. For an hour. Until we had made the $84 we needed — then we went back to allowing the customers to decide what to tip us and the remainder of the night wasn’t as prosperous.

    What’s interesting is that no one, not one single person, questioned us. No one complained. And no one tipped less or more than we told them to.

    Now this is just a story told at barbecues and over lunches, but it’s important here because it frames the next story — the important one.

    Fast forward about fifteen years. I was now married, we had bought our first house, and we were raising our two small sons in a town called Vestal, NY. And for ten years I made a living in industrial computer electronics — which is a fancy way to say that I befriended corporate buyers and tried to talk them into buying more from me and less from my competition. And life was good.

    Then, as the electronics industry began to shift heavily offshore, the pinch was felt. And in May of 1999 I received my first of two career layoffs.

    I wasn’t really concerned about this layoff because I had received job offers from competitors fairly often, so I contacted them. But the shift was being felt by all, and these very contacts were scrambling for their own jobs.

    With the severance I received, along with unemployment, we could just take care of the essentials if we tightened our belts a bit. So we did. And I made the job hunt my full-time position, leaving early and coming home late.

    During this time one company made me an interesting proposal. They, like everyone, had a hiring freeze. But if I could work for commission only — covering my own hotel, gas, and expenses and receiving a commission on new business — I could start right away.

    It wasn’t ideal. Money would go out before it came back in and even if I sold something that first day, it would be months before a commission followed. But it kept me in front of customers, making new contacts, and in the industry, so I agreed.

    A few months went by and a little money was trickling in, but not much. Then, the Vice President of Sales was retiring and had hired his replacement. They were both flying into Rochester to introduce the new VP to one of our largest customers. My job was to make the three-hour drive to pick them up at the airport, go to the meeting, and then get them back to the airport. And I could tell by the coolness of the past week that our relationship would soon end.

    When the plane landed I was there to pick them up.

    “Well, we should probably start with the real reason you’re here and get that out of the way first,” I said, in a friendly tone.

    But they both laughed this off. I was wrong. They had no interest in making any changes like that, and in fact I was doing a great job. And the hour and a half drive from the airport to the meeting was light and friendly.

    We had our meeting. It went well, as did the working lunch after. Then we began the long drive back to the airport.

    When we had reached the halfway mark, with about forty minutes left to the airport, the mood changed. They started talking about how their expectations were higher than I was hitting. Was I really giving this my full attention? The new customers I had set up were not as many as they were hoping. They weren’t sure that this was working for them. So, they were canceling our agreement — which would have been fine, except they then started to get angry. The mood started to intensify and even become threatening.

    As the anger built up on their end, I felt myself move into defense mode — to listen and apologize, to brainstorm, to offer to work harder, to make sacrifices and…

    Then something clicked. In one of those brief moments of clarity, everything snapped into place and became absolutely clear.

    I then knew the difference between what I had to do and what I didn’t have to do. Everything stopped and I knew what my options were. And without anger, without emotion, I put my turn signal on and worked the car towards the far right lane.

    “What are you doing?” the VP snapped.

    “I’m going home,” I said. In a calm and almost sleepy tone. “So I’ll let you guys out here.”

    There was a moment of quiet, then a laugh. “Very funny,” he pointed down the road and then gave the new VP in the backseat one of those, don’t worry, I’ve got this under control, kind of looks.

    But I continued to move the car to the right and then to the side of the highway. Then I stopped.

    “Okay, okay,” the new VP joined in from the back. “I can understand you’re upset. So let’s talk about it. Let’s head back to the airport and sit down and…”

    “I’m not upset,” I put the car in park. “I’m not upset at all. This isn’t working for either of us. But I also don’t have to take you to the airport.”

    This idea confused them. What did I mean? Of course I had to take them to the airport. What kind of a lunatic was I? I did have to take them to the airport. Didn’t I see that?

    “You have to…”

    “No, I don’t,” and still there was not a single trace of anger in me. “I don’t have to and I don’t want to. So I’m not going to.”

    Several moments of frustrated silence followed before anyone spoke.

    “Well,” the current VP finally said, with a cocky smirk, “then we have an issue because we’re not getting out of the car.”

    “That’s fine,” I replied. “But I’m turning around at the U-turn spot right up there. And then I’m heading the three hours home, in the opposite direction. So if you want to get to the airport, this is the closest you’ll be.”

    More silence. More looks back and forth. Then I pressed the button that popped the trunk. They both sat there. Quietly. Then the old VP got out and the new one followed. I let them get their bags from the trunk and shut it. Then I pulled out, turned the car around, and headed home and I never saw or heard from either one of them again.

    Now, do I feel bad for leaving a 65-year-old man and an overweight VP on the side of Highway 90 in the middle of the summer?

    Nope. Not at all.

    They both had cell phones, granted back then they were the size of hoagie rolls and cost about three dollars a minute, but they could have called someone. And I have no pride in the act of leaving them, only in clearly seeing what my options were. The point was that I didn’t have to drive them to the airport, and I didn’t want to. So I didn’t. I made a choice instead of followed the momentum.

    And I also have no bitterness or anger towards them — I didn’t then and I don’t now. Because it’s not about anger. It’s about options.

    Because there is nothing in life, and I mean absolutely nothing, that we have to do.

    We don’t have to go to work. We don’t have to make our car payment. We don’t have to pay taxes and we don’t even have to get out of bed in the morning. We choose to do all those things.

    Now are there repercussions if we don’t do them? Yes. Of course there are. But there is a cause and effect in all things.

    There is nothing in life that we have to do. We choose to do it all. And yes we can make bad choices and we all do. Every day. But the challenge is to make sure they are our choices not just our reactions.

    Choose to do it, or choose not to. These are the only options. But never respond simply because the bartender tells you to, or the guy going to the airport needs a lift —it’s not your fault those two idiot bartenders didn’t budget for their rent and neither is it that the two business men didn’t want to spring for a rental car.

    You determine if you want to tip them or give them a ride.

    You decide. And then you choose.

  • How to jumpstart a car

    How to jumpstart a car

    cable

    Now the basics of jumpstarting a car are extremely simple and require only three parts. One, a car with a dead battery — the jump-ee. Two, a car with a live battery — jump-er. And three, a set of large, industrial, jumper cables.

    Now, this is a very simple process that gets complicated quickly if you are lacking or have undersized jumper cables. The reason for this is that it’s always  easier to find someone willing to give your car a jumpstart, than it is to find someone willing to do so who also has a set of jumper cables — or a set sized large enough to actually work. You may find one or you may find the other, but now you need to find both. This is the same as needing help moving, but you can only accept help from friends with red hair — you’ve not only decreased your odds but you have put yourself in a vulnerable position.

    Being men means that we are prepared to take care of ourselves, the people we care about and others who need our help along the way. It’s okay to have a dead battery. It’s not okay to drive around unprepared expecting others to take care of us. A man on the side of the road with a sign reading NEED JUMPER CABLES, is different than that same man with his hood up, cables ready, looking for a quick charge from a willing traveler.

    And don’t think for one minute that those cheap jumper cables that came with the car, or the set that was in the emergency car kit your aunt gave you for Christmas, count. They don’t. They are worthless and unreliable. I have helped more people jumpstart cars that were trying to do so with cheap cables, than those who had no cables at all. They just don’t work. Go out and get yourself a heavy set of jumper cables — 6 gauge or better (remember, the lower the gauge number the better, so, 6 is better than 8 and 4 is better than 6, etc.) — 300 amp or better with rubber handles on the clamps; not plastic ones. Also, a 15’ length is a good length. 12’ cables are often hard to use if you have to pull the cars in at a strange angle and with more than 15’ you risk some current loss.

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    THE PROCESS:

    So, now you’ve got a decent set of jumper cables, a car with a battery that needs to be jump started (jump-ee) and a car that is has a fully charged battery (jump-er). From here it’s pretty straightforward. With the jump-er’s car running — it’s very important that the car jumpstarting from is running — you’ll start the process.

    First you need to determine if the problem with the car is truly a dead battery. So, if when you turn the key and the car does nothing or if it tries to turn over but can’t, it’s most likely to battery. If the dash lights come on and/or there is a clicking sound when you try to start the car, this might be a starter issue instead of a battery.

    The rule of jumper cables is simple. It doesn’t matter which way you connect the cables, as long as they are the same on both cars. So, if the black jumper cable clamp is on the positive terminal on the jump-er, then the black clamp goes on the positive terminal of the jump-ee. The black and orange (or yellow) on the cables does not mean positive or negative, it’s just a way to distinguish a difference between the cables.

    So that means, do not cross the cables. Don’t put the red cable on positive of the jump-er and the other red end on negative of the jump-ee. If you do, bad things will happen. But the good news is, that’s really the only rule of using jumper cables.

    So let’s say you choose to connect red to positive on the jump-ee car, then red to positive on the jump-er. Then go back and do black to negative on jump-ee and then black to heavy metal bracket or frame of the jumper — I’ve connected the negative to the negative, but this is no longer recommended.

    Now, you wait a minute to let the charge build up then try and start the car. If it starts, great. If it does not start, wait a few more minutes and let the charge build up further. Try again. If still nothing, look at the cars you are matching up.

    If you have a Honda Civic trying to jumpstart a Chevy Bronco, you may have an issue. The smaller battery may not be strong enough to charge the larger one. You can wait longer to see if a charge will build, but most likely you will need to find a larger car to jump from. The rule is you want an equal or larger battery as the jump-er.

    So if the battery sizes are equal, and the cables are of heavy industrial strength, you should get a charge and the car should start. Then, unhook the cables — red from the jump-er then red from the jump-ee, etc. — and let the car run to build up a charge.

    That’s it.

    So do you now know how to jumpstart a car?

    No. Because you haven’t done it yet.

    Put a good set of cables in your trunk and wait to find someone you can help and once you’ve actually jumpstarted, then you know how to do it. And when you find someone — walking out to them with your heavy duty cables still in their plastic bag —  be honest. Tell the person that you have never used the cables but are willing to help. And don’t be embarrassed by this. I had a neighbor — he was almost sixty at the time — I found reading his car manual trying to find out how to jumpstart his car. He refused to let me help him because he wouldn’t admit he didn’t know how to do it.

    The worst kind of knowledge is the type that is offered but never accepted.

     

     

  • Narcissus

    Narcissus

    boston

    For a few months, in 1985, Kirk and I were in Boston. Starving. Well, probably not medically starving, we did have the olives and slices of lemons we stole from the garnish tray whenever we could. Altogether, I’d say we ate every two or three days.

    When we first arrived in Beantown we were eating pretty regularly. This was partially due to the fact that YMCA on Huntington Avenue gave you a breakfast voucher to their cafeteria every day; one egg, any style, toast, and coffee. So every morning, with the $35 room that Kirk and I split, we ate. And it was a great beginning to the day. But you can only stay at the Y for two weeks so we had to move on. Later, when breakfast had to be removed from the budget, we would miss that voucher and would actually taunt each other with the chant — one egg —any style—toast and coffee.

    The shoeboxes of food my mom gave us at the Greyhound bus station in Oneonta, NY, oh man, they were long gone; the ham sandwiches on croissants, the plastic jugs of Kool-Aid, (frozen to keep them cold longer), the apples, the crackers, the pepperoni, the boiled eggs, the cottage cheese containers filled with macaroni salad. All gone.

    Now in Oneonta, yeah it was my idea to leave. I admit it. But it was Kirk’s idea to go to Boston.

    “I’m taking off,” I said as I looked out of his apartment window that looked down on Market Street. “Come with me.”

    “To Binghamton? Why?”

    “Because there’s nothing for me here and there’s nothing for you either.” I said. “C’mon, it’ll be a blast.”

    And I made it sound like the beginning of a film. As if we were two desperados. Two beaten men who would head out to make their fortunes and leave the place that had mocked them behind. Me? I was nursing a seriously broken heart and damaged ego and didn’t want to be around when school started back up again. And Kirk had flunked out last semester and couldn’t re-enroll until the spring semester anyway.

    “I’m taking a semester off. I’m leaving. So come with me.”

    “Maybe,” Kirk flipped the channels until he got to an episode of MASH. “But not to Binghamton. If we’re gonna go, let’s go.”

    And we toyed around with different locales. Chicago. Miami, we even thought of L.A. But once we landed on the idea of Boston, Kirk was sure that this was the place for us.

    “Boston?” I asked.

    “Yup. That’s where we need to go.”

    So, Boston it was.

    We had taken the seven-hour bus ride from Oneonta to Boston a week before, to scope everything out — to see how difficult jobs and apartments were to find — and by mid-morning of that very first day, at our very first interview, we both walked out with two jobs in our pockets. And not just any jobs; for two college kids from the sticks, they were dream jobs.

    Kenmore Square is the intersection of Beacon Street and Commonwealth Avenue and was the heart of Boston nightlife. It was behind Fenway Park and Boston University and Narcissus was a huge nightclub where students from Harvard and B.U. came to spend all their money. And Kirk and I were hired to be two of their newest employees.

    The place was huge and actually held three clubs in one: Narcissus, Celebration, and Lipstick. But Narcissus was the gleaming, Studio 54 jewel of the crown.

    Since it happened so quickly, Kirk and I went to the club that night to see if the crowds really did bring pockets full of tips for their favorite bartenders, as we were promised. And they were.

    “Well, my friend,” Kirk clinked his beer glass to mine and screamed over the sound of a thousand college kids. “We are gonna to be rich.”

    We were ecstatic. And as soon as we got back to Oneonta we tossed everything into a few bags and jumped the next bus to Boston.

    Finding an apartment was the first challenge. With all the fees added up between first and last month’s rent and the security deposit, we would need to come up with $3,200. Which we didn’t have.

    We were earning a little bit of money, but the challenge was that there was a pecking order at Narcissus and we had not earned the plum bartending slots yet. Because we worked during the day, Juno scheduled us for a lot of corporate parties and band things where we worked the service bar and our tips came from the waitresses who were supposed to give us a percentage. Which they never did.

    And because there were so many bartenders at Narcissus, if we worked a night, Kirk and I would come home with $35 to $45 each — hardly the $100 a night we were hoping for. The good news was that the work was easy and the place was completely mobbed; we only had a few feet of bar space to cover.

    Unfortunately, what money we were earning was going straight into Terry’s hand. He waited behind the door where we lived, and would pop out like a sentry as soon as our feet hit the wooden landing.

    “Well?” Terry scratched his chest through his Talking Heads t-shirt and held out hand — like we had tried to sneak out of a window a thousand times before this. And without words we’d hand over the forty bucks — or however close we could get to it. If Kirk and I were both working that night, our combined tips would make it with a few bucks to spare. But if just one of us was on that night, we’d be short, unless we saved from a night when we did both work.

    Forty dollars would get rid of Terry until the next day, since that’s how much the room cost per night. Thirty-five dollars would lead to a tirade on how he wasn’t a bank and we were the most worthless rags he’d ever met.

    I don’t know if rags was a Terry phrase or a Boston one, but he was the only one that we ever heard use it and he did so  often.

    By October we knew we had lost a lot of weight — each time we got dressed it seemed like we had shrunk a pant size — but when the junkies on Washington Street took interest in our new ultra-thin frames, probably thinking we might have a connection or a hit to share, we knew that food had to become a bigger priority.

    That’s why the envelope was such a big deal.

    The envelope — and I can still see it after all these years — Kirk had found on High Street. It was in the shape of a small paper rectangle and had Asian lettering on it and since we were pretty close to Chinatown, this made sense. Inside the envelope was a bright red foiled liner and a small card. The card had more lettering, stuff we couldn’t read, but inside of the card, pressed between the thick paper folds, were two crisp ten dollar bills.

    Kirk kept punching my shoulder. “We could of walked by it,” and he continued to punch me all the way to a Burger King, where we ordered two Whopper meals. We dove into the burgers and could only finish about half before our shrunken stomach’s gave in.

    “I know what’s for dinner,” Kirk smiled, as he wrapped his leftover sandwich back in the foil. And we sat there for a long time. Happy. Happy because not only did we have a meal, but we actually had the next one covered too.

    From the remaining money we bought crackers, peanut butter, and beef jerky — stuff we could easily hide from Terry, since food in the room was forbidden and he checked regularly.

    We had a certain routine, Kirk and I. Northeastern University had bought a huge apartment building near us and was converting it to dorms. We went exploring one day and found that the laundry room was never locked and within the room was an ironing board and iron. So every day that we had to work, we would stop there and iron our black pants and white shirt before getting on the train to Kenmore Square — we didn’t have an iron and had been yelled at a few times for coming in with wrinkled clothes.

    There was this very cute girl in the dorms with red hair that we would see every now and then. She never paid much attention to us but when Kirk went alone to iron his clothes, he would always come back telling me of how she stopped to talk to him and flirt. But then when we went back together, she ignored us again. Kirk was like that. The nights I didn’t work, he would come back with stories of how the owners would buy him shots and pretty bartenders would hit on him. And then when we worked together, we were invisible.

    That’s why the shooting probably didn’t happen. Looking back it doesn’t matter if it did, but it most likely was made up.

    It was the second week of November and I was off for the night but Kirk was working. He came home excited. He told about how there was a robbery and a guy shot one of the bartenders. Then the shooter came back behind the bar, robbed the cash register and then headed out — only to be shot by cops before he hit the street.

    The story probably didn’t happen. But I never had a chance to verify it. The shooting was my excuse. I was going back to New York.

    Kirk was sitting in the chair by the door as I threw my clothes into a bag. He looked at me with a mixture of fear and pain as I said goodbye. From Brookline, I walked to the bus station where I used my last $22 — my half of tomorrow’s rent — to get a ticket to Schenectady where a friend picked me up and took me the remaining two hours to my parents’ house.

    And I left Kirk there. Alone and broke in a city that didn’t want him.

    There are two kinds of bad decisions. There is the mistake. And there is the regret.

    A mistake is a miscalculation. An error. Bad data and bad calculations.

    But a regret is when a moral or ethical line has been crossed. When you have the chance to do the right thing and you don’t. And most regrets come from the wrong answer to one simple question. Do I stick, or do I run?

    A life filled with mistakes is not a bad life at all. It’s one of excitement and energy and fire. But one with regrets will weigh you down because regrets don’t have shelf lives and their backup batteries never run dry.

    I never saw Kirk again. I have no idea what happened to him, since I transferred to Cortland the next semester. I do know that he didn’t have any family — his mom had died when he was young and his father a few years after he graduated High School.

    So here is the question. How hard would it have been to get us both to my parents’ house? To get us both someplace safe until we figured out the next step? How difficult would it have been to have thought of my friend even a fraction of the amount that I thought of myself?

    Probably not very. It most likely would have taken the same energy it took to leave him behind.

    The irony that Narcissus is the Greek god of self-love, isn’t wasted here. And neither is the fact that I have very few good memories of Boston — most likely because it represents the ugly parts of myself that I want to forget. But I would like to think if this happened today, thirty years later, that the man I am now would react differently and show just a little bit of loyalty and grace.

    I’d like to think so. But I’ll never know.

    Because that’s why they call them regrets.

    http://www.thecrimson.com/article/1993/7/6/narcissus-fuit-or-the-death-of/

  • Thieves

    Thieves

    cross

    There was an article posted a few days ago about a church that had the sound equipment stolen for their big Sunrise Easter Service. This service is outside, is attended by over a thousand people and without that equipment there would be no way for the large crowd to hear the music or the pastor. They would have to cancel it. But what was interesting about the story was that when the church discovered the theft, they all got together, discussed what happened, and —  they prayed for the thieves. They forgave them. Then they rented sound equipment and the service went on as scheduled.

    Now, what’s even more fascinating about this story is when you look at it from a different angle — at the people who took the equipment — you can tell a few things about them. See, those thieves did not set out to be thieves. Absolutely not. They didn’t tell their Guidance Counselors that’s what they wanted to do. They didn’t set thief-goals. They didn’t dream about being the greatest thieves ever and they didn’t brag at High School reunions of how one day they would steal sound equipment from churches. It just happened. Stealing became the default. The fall back. And it happened for one simple reason.

    They got desperate.

    We know this as a fact. Because no one — and I mean, no one — steals for the sheer pleasure of it. The idea of the millionaire cat burglar taking jewels for the thrill of the challenge, is fiction. Because nobody has a great day stealing. No thief takes pride in their work. No thief feels good about what they do. They get desperate. Then they get stupid. In fact, every stupid thing we do, have done, and will ever do, is because we got desperate. Which means we got stupid. And then we say those words. I have no choice. We get in a corner and our options seem limited.

    Which is a lie. No matter what — every time — we always have options. We always have choices.

    Why do millions of people fall for internet and e-mail scams every year? That’s easy. Because they are so desperate that they need those cons to be true — wealthy people don’t fall for these things, desperate people do. They are in a dire need for money, their options seem limited and they think: if this were true, it would fix everything.  They switch off their  intelligence because they need it to be true. This has to work becausethere is no other choice.

    And when you go even further, when you boil that desperation down what do you have? What is at the core of desperation?

    Fear.

    Desperation is the fear that the alternative, the next step, is so terrible that we have to do this horrible thing to make sure that the other horrible thing doesn’t happen.

    Stealing is less scary then going without that next fix or that next drink. Stealing is less risky than waking up and having to face the world clear headed. Taking this stuff is far less scary than having to face all the bad decisions we’ve made and take different route. So we cross that line. We pop open that church’s storage trailer and fueled by desperation we grab that sound equipment. And what happens then?

    Nothing. Nothing happens. We get that sound equipment and we get it to a pawn shop and we get the money. And when we wake up the next morning there aren’t people pounding on our door. We don’t hear sirens wailing towards us. The world doesn’t end. Nothing happened.

    Not to us anyway. But something always happens.

    Several years ago, my wife’s ninety year old grandmother had her house robbed while she was out. The thieves got away with two old televisions and some costume jewelry. Total take, around four hundred dollars.

    When Beulah — yes, that’s her real name — came home, she was shocked. She called the police and she called her family. A new lock was put on the house and a new television was purchased. But the story didn’t end there.

    Beulah couldn’t sleep after that. She was so worried about the thieves coming back that she became completely preoccupied with this idea. She stopped sleeping and eating altogether. She would call family all hours of the night and tell them that someone was upstairs. And one night a neighbor found Beulah in her driveway in just a nightgown, running from the house because she was convinced the thieves had come back for her.

    Beulah went into a nursing home shortly after that because she was couldn’t focus on anything other than the  thieves. And when she died a few years later she was still obsessed with that break in.

    Now, did those thieves kill Beulah?

    No. Probably not. But they did take the joy and security out of the few years that she had left. No doubt about that. And they did it for four hundred dollars.

    But the good thing for the thieves is, that they will never know that — that’s the only career advantage in being a thief. You steal, you run, you never have to look your victims in the eye and the consequences are kept far, far away from you.

    When we get desperate, we get stupid. We change. And we change the world around us. Every time.

    2,000 years ago two other thieves faced their own last hours on earth. They thought about their lives and they considered all that they had done.

    One became humble.

    And the other one remained desperate.

  • REVIEW: Vacation Spot. Cambridge, Maryland

    REVIEW: Vacation Spot. Cambridge, Maryland

    crab

    My wife and I have never really been vacation people. Not really. I mean, we’ve taken a few vacations over the years. Well — one. We’ve taken one real vacation in twenty-three years. That’s one. We did that, airplane ride, baggage check, reservations through a travel agency, kind of trips when we went to Key West for a week. One time.

    And then when the kids came, we started talking road trips — too many to count actually. We went to museums, water parks, zoos, carnivals, cabins, cities, to visit family, beaches, battlefields. In fact, if it’s within eight or ten hours of us, we’ve been there. And we drove.

    So although we may not be vacation people. We are definitely road trip people. Which I think is just as good.

    And now that the kids are older, Debbie and I try to get away a few times a year, just the two of us. Someplace close — just a quick trip for a few days. And this past weekend — our anniversary — we went to Cambridge, Maryland.

    Now Cambridge, Maryland, is this quaint little, brick paved street, kind of town that sits between the mighty Choptank River — which is the greatest name for a river, ever — and the Chesapeake Bay. It has restaurants, shops, fishing, music, dinner cruises, golf and just about everything you would ever want in the entire quaint little town package.

    But — and this is where it sounds like a bad movie trailer — there is something a little off about the place.

    If you go to Cambridge, the trip will start like this. You’ll drop your things in your room and head downtown — to go to one of the great restaurants, shops or museums that you’ve heard about. And when you get there —.

    You’ll walk into a place that calls itself a wine bar. And you’ll see three bottles of wine sitting towards the back someplace.

    Then you’ll walk through another door that raves about homemade lunches and the lady will have to go and see if they still have a menu.

    Then you’ll decide to try that gastro pub that has such good reviews and you’ll find a dozen college kids drinking around some brewery vats.

    Nothing is how it seems — or how it’s portrayed.

    Now we are all accustomed to businesses, products and shops that exaggerate on what they have to offer — even the old bait and-switch — but here, it seems like the entire town is in on the deal. Every place is smaller, dingier, or in many cases just completely different, then you expect it to be. And the vibe is very odd too.

    In Cambridge, you will see Porsches — and not just any Porsches, models you don’t even recognize — parked next to old Buicks that know people are living in. You’ll see well-dressed tourists and right behind them you’ll see a group of people that spend entirely too much time looking in your car. And there is this extremely strong Stepford Wives kind of feel to the place. As if as soon as you drive out of site, someone will give the signal and they’ll fold it all up and set up shop somewhere else — so when the authorities get there they’ll be harder to find.

    Now if you leave the small downtown area and go the big Hyatt resort a few miles away, everything is clean and pretty and homogenized. Manicured lawns, a luxury golf course and beautiful people — we saw former Eagles player Vince Papale in the hallway. There is nothing strange — or actually interesting — about the place because it’s like all overpriced resorts. Scrubbed of any genuine feel and made safe and clean.

    Now with that said, if you do ever make it to Cambridge, Maryland, one thing that is absolutely a must is to take an hour’s drive from there to a place called Elliot Island. This is a tiny little patch of land — there are only a few homes, a fire station and a church there — but to get to it you’ll need to pass  through hundreds of acres of protected wet lands, and that’s the best part. You will drive for twenty minutes without ever seeing another car — and what few you do see, will wave to you as you pass. We saw bald eagles and huge turtles that sunned themselves on logs and acres and acres of wide open land — which is pretty rare in that part of the world.

    And then, you cross over the tiny bridge to the island. And you see all the little houses that sit next to boats and crab pots. And the GPS shows that large blue area ahead of you that keeps crawling closer.

    Until you roll to a stop.

    At the end of the road.

  • How to clean a fish

    How to clean a fish

    fishie

    The Colonel — his real name is Frank but we all know him as The Colonel — lives across the street from us. He is a 93 years old but no one has really taken the time to explain to him how a 93 year old man is supposed to act so you can’t blame him for his ignorance. Frank is healthy, active, sharp as a tack and lives alone in the same house he has owned since he and his late wife bought it in the 1970’s — well, that is saying he lives alone for those rare occasions that he’s actually at home. Because even when he is home — referring to being in town — he’s rarely at his house. Frank hates staying home and when he is actually in the area he’ll pull out of the garage early in the morning, wave goodbye, pick up his sixty year old girlfriend and head out for the day. I would say in a given year Frank spends possibly four, maybe five months of it even in town and when he is, he only sleeps at his house.

    It’s a depressing fact The Colonel has a far more active social life than anyone else on the street. Bar none. And most of us are four or five decades younger than he is.

    Now, Frank is known as The Colonel, because that’s simply what he is. A retired World War II Air Force Colonel and he is only given this title behind his back. If you do slip up and refer to him as The Colonel to his face, he will quickly correct you.

    “Please,” he’d smile. “Just call me Frank.”

    Frank drives his own car. He plays golf — he actually participates in several senior golf tournaments every year — he competes in poker tournaments and he skeet shoots. But Frank’s true passion, what The Colonel truly enjoys more than anything, is fly fishing. Frank loves fly fishing and he goes on several major fly fishing trips a year. For weeks at a time he will fly into Maine or New Hampshire or Alaska and meet a friend or one of his sons and fly fish.

    Trout and Salmon fear The Colonel.

    [amazon asin=B000QAS14G&template=iframe image][amazon asin=B002VYWWKO&template=iframe image][amazon asin=B002OFJ578&template=iframe image][amazon asin=B000Q89MCS&template=iframe image]

    Now fly fishing is a gentlemen’s sport and is somewhat different than the hook and line variety the majority of us barbarians practice. There is an art to fly fishing, a grace, that is missing in conventional fishing. And once I asked Frank if he kept that fish that he caught.

    “Naw,” Frank would say. “I just like giving them a sore mouth and sending them on their way.”

    But occasionally, if they have a large group of people that are fishing with that  need to feed, The Colonel will end up eating a few of the salmon or trout that he catches.

    Even if you fish occasionally, even if you fish once in a great while, there will come the times when you will want to keep a few of the fish you catch. And when I say keep, I mean eat. So you’ll need to know how to gut a fish.

    HOW TO CLEAN A FISH.

    Go outdoors. Cleaning fish is messy business. Even with a skilled fisherman the smell will remain so this is done outdoors, preferably where you have water available. A makeshift table —- even a piece of wood between two saw horses with a garden hose works well.

    Scale the fish. Hold the fish by the head and with the back end of a knife — you can also use a butter knife or a spoon — scrape against the scales to remove them. You want these strokes to be smooth and even otherwise you’ll cut into the meat of the fish.

    Rinse the fish. This is also a good time to check and verify that all the scales are off.

    Cut open the fish. With the fish belly up, make a clean cut from the bottom of the mouth to just below the tail.

    Open the fish and remove the entrails. This is the messiest part of the process but it doesn’t last long. Simply pull everything out and then cut anything remaining. When you think it’s complete, rinse the fish.

    Remove the head. Depending on the type of fish you caught as well as the type of cooking you’ll be doing, you can remove the head. If you’re cooking over the fire, it might make sense to leave the heads on. A simple stick placed through the inside and mouth of the fish will make for a great way to smoke the day’s catch over a fire. Also, trout cooks well with the heads left one — as well as the scales left on. Pan fish or anything deep fried you’ll want the heads and tails off.

    And that’s it. Once you’ve done this a few times you’ll be a pro.

  • Homesteading

    Homesteading

    homestead

    There is a great quote by Robert Heinlein that goes, “Every generation thinks they invented sex.”

    Yup. We do. And not just sex, every generation thinks they were the first to discover — everything.

    We arrive in the world and we begin to see and experience. And when we see and experience it’s assumed that no one has seen or experienced before us. How could they? We just found out about it ourselves and since we’re the center of it all, how could anything of any importance have occurred before we got here? Or before it involved us?

    It can’t. And since it’s all new to us, therefore it’s all new.

    Makes sense. Except for the fact that — it’s all been done before. And just because we are now experiencing it, doesn’t make it new.

    What has been will be again, what has been done will be done again; there is nothing new under the sun.” Ecclesiastes  1:9

    And there isn’t.

    With the exception of every generations new technological gizmos that are coming out, and will always be coming out, everything important has been done before.

    But this isn’t a bad thing.

    What is a bad thing is when we think that by just renaming it or repackaging it, that we get the discovery credits. Because there aren’t new discoveries, there are only new movements.

    Eating only what food that will go to waste if we don’t eat it, doesn’t get to be freeganism. It’s what people have been doing for centuries and do every day around the world.

    Making use of what materials you have, doesn’t get to be repurposing or even recycling; it’s just plain good sense and what’s been done since — forever.

    Now, there’s another new trend of an old idea that has popped up in the last few years that isn’t new at all, but is still pretty intriguing. And it’s the old concept of homesteading.

    The term homesteading is pretty commonly known and we all have a general idea of what that means. You go someplace where few people live and you live there and farm.

    Sort of.

    The true definition of the term homesteading has to do with subsistence farming or living a self-sufficient lifestyle — more modern terms for old ideas. But what makes this  modern trend and an interesting one is that there is now land out there that developers have no interest in — in every state, probably within two or three hours from where you are right now — that is dirt cheap.

    And I mean dirt cheap. In fact, for less than the cost of a big screen TV you can get a few acres of land — and some plots for even less than that.

    Now, these are homesteading lots — or undeveloped lots. Most don’t have power, or water or much of anything except the land itself. But they are cheap and they are plentiful.

    What is homesteading?

    The pure definition of homesteading dates back to the 1862 and the United States Homestead Act. It is the ability to establish a home in unsettled land and get everything you need from that land. You get your food from your garden, your fruit trees and your livestock. You get what currency you need in the sale of said items, by bartering or other means. You take care of the land and the land takes care of you.

    Now recently homesteading has been placed in a ultra-liberal almost radical box by using such terms as self-sufficiency and living off the grid. But the act of homesteading is simply taking responsibility for yourself through your land.

    Now the reason I’m bringing up all of this is not to promote the idea of homesteading. I think it’s a great concept for the right people but I also think it can be used as an  excuse to pull away from society and the neighbors that need you. So it’s two edged.

    But what I do want to promote — and think that this does apply to everyone — is that there is cheap land out there. It’s probably on a hill, covered in trees and probably will never see a power connection or a water line, but it’s affordable. And the thing about land is that they are not making any more of it.

    There is something in our core — and this goes back further than generations, it’s why our ancestors came here — about the need to own a piece of land. If you own your home that’s great, but it’s not land. It’s not a piece of the earth.

    For a few thousand bucks you can own a few acres of land. And if you only throw a tent there a few times a year, if you only go to it to show your friends, if you only build a shack or a cabin or an a-frame on it, it’s your land. And if you pay the few hundred dollars a year in taxes, it will be yours forever.

    That flat screen will be gone. That vacation will be distant memories. But your land will always be there.

    Your land.

  • How to Make Acorn Pancakes

    How to Make Acorn Pancakes

    acorn

    When I was a kid, my all-time favorite book — and I mean all-time favorite — was a novel entitled My Side of the Mountain. I loved that book and I read it at least a dozen times. It’s the story of a boy named Sam — I think he was around twelve years old — who runs away from his New York City home and heads for the Catskill Mountains to live off the land. The book actually takes place in Delhi, NY, which is sixteen miles from my hometown of Walton.

    Now Sam isn’t the typical runaway. He doesn’t hate his parents. He’s not in trouble with the law. And he is not being abused by his family. Sam just wants to be on his own and wants to live in the mountains

    So he does.

    And while surviving alone he hollows out the base of a tree to live in, raises a baby peregrine falcon that he trains to hunt for him, and has some other amazing adventures.

    For food, Sam survives on the rabbits and squirrels that Frightful — Sam’s trained Falcon — brings him, as well as the occasional stolen deer that he would poach from the illegal hunters who shot them out of season. And of course, there were acorn pancakes. Sam lived on piles and piles of acorn pancakes.

    Now, when I was a kid I asked my mother if we could make acorn pancakes, and she told me that this was impossible. She said that My Side of the Mountain was simply a story; you couldn’t make flour from acorns and therefore you couldn’t make pancakes from acorn flour.

    I was heart broken. The author had lied to me! Everything else had seemed so real… Years later, when I had finally come to grips with forgiving author Jean Craighead George for her deception, I discovered that she was not the one lying. (Sorry, Mom!) There are acorn pancakes.

    Acorn pancakes and acorn biscuits were actually a staple of the Native American meal. Acorns hold some valuable proteins and carbohydrates and also hold a good deal of saturated fats. In the modern world they are fun to collect, fun to process, and add a unique nutty flavor that can’t be found anywhere else.

    How to Make Acorn Pancakes

    Gather. The first step is to collect your acorns, and the rule of thumb here is to harvest a third more than you need. The acorns should be perfect specimens — if they are rotten or have been infiltrated by bugs, they can’t be used.

    1. You need to crack the acorns and get to the meat. This is where you’ll do your final inspection. If the nuts are dark, chipped, or look as if bugs have gotten in, chuck them.
    2. A coffee grinder works well for this. You don’t want to get the acorn meal down to a flour consistency, but more like the consistency of ground coffee beans.

    Wash. If you were to taste the acorn meal right now you would notice one thing: it’s horrible. That’s because it’s loaded with tannins. Native Americans would take the acorns and fill them in baskets and leave them in streams. It’s difficult to get this tannin out, but crucial. The method I’ve found that works the best is using a stocking. Take a stocking and fill it with the acorn meal. Tie it off and run it under cold water, all the time kneading the stocking. You’ll need to do this several times — a dozen or so — to make sure the tannins are all out. A good way to check is to taste the water that comes out of the meal you are rinsing. If it’s clear and has no taste, you’re good.

    Some people bake the acorn meal, but I find this gives it a more bitter taste. Just spread it out and let it dry.

    Now, there is no yeast in acorn meal so it is best used to add into other meals — I like using buckwheat flour or corn meal. This gives it a unique nutty and sweet flavor.

    Knowing how to make acorn pancakes is not a mission critical skill to possess. It’s not up there with being able to change your tire or tie a tie. But it’s a fun thing to do with your kids as a fall project or as just a very creative way to zest up foods.

    Enjoy.

  • How to change your spark plugs

    How to change your spark plugs

    plug

    History

    Believe it or not, there is actually a great deal of controversy surrounding who actually invented the spark plug — pretty funny, huh?

    In one camp, there are those that believe the credit should go to a man named Edmond Berger, who supposedly created the first device on February 2, 1839. But since Berger didn’t patent this invention and there is very little to document it — or provide verification on why the February 2nd date is always used — the title can’t officially go here.

    Then there are others that give the credit to a Frenchman named Jean Lenoir in 1860, who used an electric spark plug in a gas engine that he had created — but again, no patents were filed and there is little documentation.

    The actual paper trail begins in 1898, when the famed Mr. Nikola Tesla — the creator of the modern AC electrical system — filed a patent for a sparking plug within his ignition timing system. And then another patent was filed in 1902 when Robert Bosch designed a plug for his magneto-based system.

    But there is little doubt that the development of what is today the modern spark plug came from an engineer named Gottlob Honold who was working for Bosch in 1902, and took the plug closer to what it is today. And from there, manufacturing developments were made by Albert Champion in creating the insulator and completing the task in 1930.

    What is a spark plug?

    A spark plug is device that has a metal threaded shell surrounded by a porcelain insulator. It is screwed into the cylinder head of an engine and forces electricity to arc across a gap in order to deliver electric current from an ignition system to the combustion chamber of an engine. That’s it. It provides a consistent spark to keep the combustion going and the cylinders moving so the engine keeps moving.

    Maintenance

    When a spark jumps the gap between two electrodes, it actually burns off small amounts of metal each time. As this continues, the gap widens to a point where the spark cannot make the jump any longer. This is when the engine begins to misfire, your mileage goes done, you have trouble accelerating and the horrible CHECK ENGINE light comes on.

    Which means that it’s time to change your plugs.

    Now if you’re intimidated by changing your own spark plugs, don’t be. If you can change your oil filter and oil — and even if you have never done this, you can — then you can replace your spark plugs. And remember, each time you do yourself, you pocket the hundred dollars in labor that it would cost you to have it done in a shop. And that adds up pretty quickly.

    HOW TO CHANGE YOUR SPARK PLUGS

    So here you go. Nine easy steps to go through to replace the spark plugs in your vehicle.

    1. Buy the correct plugs for the vehicle. At your auto parts store there will be cross reference material for your vehicles make and model and the appropriate spark plug size.
    2. Gently, disconnect one spark plug, from one spark plug wire. There are two important points here; the first is the word, gently — not yanking, but disconnecting — and the second is the quantity of one. By changing one plug at a time you will always get the right plug back with the right wire.
    3. Clean the spark plug area with an air canister. This is important because it will prevent any dirt and crud from falling into the cylinder — which as far an engine is concerned is the same as a human getting a germ.
    4. Unscrew one plug. Using a spark plug ratchet, or the spark plug socket that comes with most socket sets, unscrew the plug by turning counterclockwise. Once the plug is loose enough, just finish by removing it by hand.
    5. Determine the plug gap. Each engine will have a determined gap that the plug point will need to be. You can get this gap from the vehicles owner’s manual, or it’s included in the decal under the car’s hood. Creating the correct gap is important because it will set it at the exact distance it needs for ideal performance and fuel efficiency.
    6. Gap the plug. Take your gap gauge, insert it between the bottom of the plug — the inner electrode — and the hook on top — the outer electrode. With the determined gap, bend the hook lower or higher to match the specific gap
    7. Insert plug. Slowly screw in the spark plug by hand until it’s firmly secure. Finish by tightening with the ratchet.
    8. Reattach the plug wire. Using a twisting motion, position the boot above the plug. When you hear a click, you’ll know the wire is connected to the spark plug.
    9. Repeat these steps with the other plugs.

     

    That’s it.

  • 10 old technologies to never throw away

    10 old technologies to never throw away

    tv

    There is one thing about consumer technology that has always confused me. Let’s say you have a toaster. It’s a good toaster. It makes great toast. This toaster looks good on the counter, cleans easily and has been extremely reliable for all the years you’ve had it.

    Now let’s say that you just found out that the new toasters are being released. Your version is Toaster-6.0 and the new Toaster-7.0 are now out and being gobbled up as soon as they roll off the assembly line. If you don’t move fast, there won’t be any left.

    So you grab your wallet and run to the store — dropping that boat anchor of a toaster at the curb on the way out — to get your new, improved; Toaster-7.0. You stand in line as they count off how many toasters are left. You wait and —. You make it. You get the new toaster.

    Whew, that was close. And you get home and display the new toaster on the counter proudly.

    Now, as goofy as that sounds, we are actually doing this to items like toasters — not as rapidly as we do cell phones, but that’s the danger in it. It’s more subtle. More gentle of an erosion. And then one day we wake up and we miss our old toaster because this is the third toaster we’ve had since we’ve tossed it.

    So here are the ten old technology devices that fit in that category. Here are the ten items we should never throw out.

    10. Old cast iron

    Yes, you can still buy cast new iron pots and pans. Sure. But it’s pricy and is not as durable as the old stuff. And the thing about cast iron is that it never, ever dies. You can find a cast iron frying pan in a garage sale that is rusty and flaking and looks like it has been through three wars. And within a week you can have it cleaned up, seasoned and ready for eggs on the campfire. These things are great and should be held on to forever.

     

     

     

    9. Battery operated radios

    In our world of cellular access to everything, battery operated radios are becoming harder and harder to find. But that old boom box in the garage will come in pretty handy if you loose power and cell coverage. These are worth keeping — and keep the batteries out of them so they don’t corrode.

     

     

     

     

     

    8. Coffee pots

    Not coffee makers, but coffee pots, are becoming very rare. If you have one, keep it. If you don’t have one, get one — and I’m not talking about the fancy forty-dollar camping pot, I mean a real stainless steel coffee pot. It will cost you about ten bucks and since it has very few moving parts it will last forever. These are great for camping and fishing trips, if the power goes out, or just when you want to control how strong your coffee is.

     

     

     

     

    7. Metal coffee cans

    These are becoming harder and harder to find since most mainstream coffee comes in plastic containers. But if you have the old metal ones, keep them and use them. Display them proudly because they have hundreds of uses.

     

     

     

     

     

     

    6. Old landline phones

    Again, if you lose power, an old landline phone — one that you can plug into the phone line and doesn’t require power — is a pretty handy thing to have. Keep at least one in your house.

     

     

     

     

     

    5. Old metal fans

    It’s probably too late for these beauties because they have moved from the hard to find to the collectable. But if you find an old metal fan, grab it. They last forever and the motors are much larger than the modern plastic versions.

     

     

     

     

     

     

    4. Turn tables/tape decks 

    Sometime in your life you will come across a collection of cassette tapes from your talent show in 1970 or some of Uncle Walters old 45’s. You’ll need something to play these on. If you have one, display it and use it.

     

     

     

     

     

    3. Small appliances build before 1970

    In my house, I have the milkshake maker from my parents diner in 1956. Besides the constant use it took then, it has been used for decades and still makes amazing milkshakes. These old appliances were replaced by lower quality versions and the old ones will last forever and when they are gone, they are gone.

     

     

     

    2. Old Mason Jars

    You can buy mason jars anywhere but the new design are thinner glass, cheaper fittings and aren’t designed to last as long. If you come across some of the thick old Mason Jars, grab them. They can be used for a thousand different things and they just aren’t making them any more.

     

     

     

     

    1. Metal fishing reels

    I am still in mourning over giving my brother-in-law my old Mitchel 300 fishing reel when I got my new shiny plastic one years ago. He still has mine and I am four reels down the road. The old metal reels last forever, are rugged and can take a beating.