Walt-O-Matic

After traveling all over the West coast, attending computer conferences, getting sick, and playing catchup, I felt like it was time to unwind and just do something fun before work snuck up on me Monday. So, I surprised the spouse by announcing I’d like to have the niece (6.5) and nephew (3) come over for the day. My intent was to take photographs and go out to dinner. Connie, their mother, was happy to oblige.

The kids showed up and made a bee-line to the toy area. I’d seeded it with a number of things from a My Pretty Pony and Barbie to trucks and a Nurf airplane. The kids tore into the cache and had a blast, and as always, this escalates to chases around the house, and it ended with Erich and I throwing the Nurf airplane back and forth back and forth from the top and bottom stairs.

With the sun going down, I decided it was time to pull out the photography equipment before we lost what light we had. I had this new setup that was a huge backdrop, allowing the kids to spread out and not have a cluttered scene. Erich insisted on wearing a tie that was far too long, and Madison wanted to make exaggerated body contortions — which, as we were all surprised, turned out to be some of the best photos we got of the event.

We wrapped up by going out to eat, and the kids asked for Mac’n’Cheese and a salad. With this meal came a set of saltine crackers. Two in a sealed pack.

I looked over at Madison and complained “I didn’t get any crackers!” And in her nearly 7 year old playful way, moved hers safely out of reach from me.

That’s when Erich tugged on my shirt. “Uncle Walt, you can share mine.” And he handed me his one and only cracker package. It’s things like this that tug on your heart strings.

“Thank you Erich,” I said, not really wanting the crackers, but appreciating the gesture, and started to open it. I was quickly interrupted.

“No, no — they’re special, for dessert,” he corrected me. So, I took the crackers and proped them up against the table decoration so we could watch them in growing anticipation.

The meal progressed better that you might expect for two kids who might be more interested in playing with their uncle than eating. But finally the moment arrived, Erich declared we were done and may now have our crackers.

He reached over, took the two cracker pack, and struggled to get through the plastic wrap. This is what I love about Connie’s kids, they’ve been taught not to whine and fuss when they get frustrated, but simply ask an adult for help.

“Uncle Walt, can you help me open this?” Erich asked in his charming little voice.

“Sure, Erich. I can help you.” And I took the crackers, opened the wrap just enough so that he could complete the task, and handed it back to him.

Now remembering that it was difficult to open when he handed it to me, Erich used the same mega-human super strength to remove the crackers after I had returned it to him. One went flying on the floor, the other he caught in his hand in a move that would have made Spiderman proud.

Erich looked at the cracker in his hand, then me, then the floor, then back at me. And in the saddest, most compassionate voice he said, “Ohhhh nooooo,….”, he looks back at the floor, “…that one was YOURS.”

Then, with cracker still in his hand, he eats it — right in front of me, no compulsion nor guilt.

It was starting to get late, and Erich had to give up his place on my lap so that Madison could also do situps (it took a while for the check to arrive, so I was keeping the kids busy and trying to wear them out). Erich wasn’t happy, started to get a little fussy, so mom started counting slowly to three.

As every child knows, you never want mom to actually reach three. Erich got to mom, wimpering, by two. In his mind he wasn’t done doing situps, and it wasn’t fair.

We were ready to leave, but Erich didn’t want to go until he got to do his set of situps. Unfortunately, there wasn’t time.

“Hey Erich!!! You wanna go back to my place?”

“No.”

And I blurted it out, the ultimate bribe… “You can drive!”

His eyes lit up, and what I originally intended as a funny joke, became a solid promise in his mind. His demeanor changed instantly, and he announced to mom, the waitress, the people sitting at the table near us, and the hostess that -he- was gonna drive us home. It was cute.

But, as we got the car, it became clear we were going to have a small problem on our hands. Erich realized as we opened the back door and stuffed him into the car seat, his dreams of driving were going to remain shattered for at least another 13 years.

He didn’t make a fuss, but it was pretty clear, “You said I was going to drive, and I can’t do -that- from back here.”

I looked at Connie. Connie looked at me. And a big grin spread across our faces. I looked at Connie and said, “you okay with this?” She smiled. “Sure, why not.” …our dad had instilled in us the importance and difficultly by doing the same. I turned back to face the car seat, “Erich, I promise, you’ll drive us home. No kidding.”

He was certain there was a trick, “really?” Connie and I both affirmed.

I drove us home that night, but stopped at the top of our court, making sure there was no traffic anywhere, no kids playing, nothing. Connie instructed Erich to come up front, and as he eagerly climbed out of his baby seat, Madison started to have doubts surface. “Are you really going to let -him- drive?”

“Yes we are.”

By this time, Erich was in my lap. “Can you reach the pedals Erich?”

“No…”

“Okay, then I’ll do them for you. You tell me when to stop or go so we don’t hit anything; meanwhile, you steer.”

Eric grabbed both hands on the wheel and said “GO!”

And, at a creeping 2 miles per hour, down the dead center of the road, with my hands gently letting the steering wheel pass through them down at the bottom out of site, we crept every so slowly from our stopping point.

Madison in the back was holding on tight, “I really don’t think this is such a good idea, Mom.”

Now here’s the part that was amazing. The kid -could- drive. I didn’t have to correct for -anything- he did with the steering wheel. He kept us centered in the road, gently rounding the curve, and then did a perfect hand of hand, putting us into our driveway in the exact place we had left the car, and declared “STOP!” right at the same moment I was going to anyway.

Connie and I were down right impressed. Erich had absolutely no doubt he could pull it off, and he was thrilled beyond belief at having the actual opportunity to drive a car.

Now Madison wanted to try. Opps. Hadn’t thought about that.

So, with Connie’s permission, I drove us back up to the top of the hill to the same point, and we did the same steps. Only Madison pointed the car, at a parked on. My grip on the steering wheel was far more serious than when Erich was driving.

Erich started instructing her, “Turn left, you’re gonna hit it.” Madison did so, and over corrected, aiming at another car. “Too much,” Erich instructed her again. Madison turned back a little, and, like before we crept into the drive way.

What was interesting was that Madison let the car roll into the center, where Erich had actually chosen a parking spot and placed the car there. This kid is going to be a natural.

Which, I suppose is good news, because when he gets his learners, I’m sending him to the store to get me a cracker.

About two weeks ago, I ran a contest in Live Journal for a $20 cash prize: write me a poem about Duct Tape. I’d been avoiding the submission area, wondering just what kind of after math folks would make for $20 cold cash.

The winner is: “Ode to Duct Tape“, for numerous creative uses of Duct Tape.

The specific phrase ‘from keeping bloody guts inside’ was what inched the poem “Franklin County Duct Tape Blues” out of first slot (as I *loved* the narrative nature).

So, ‘Rob’, you’ve won — you’ll be getting a crisp $20 bill from me in the mail.

Now it’s my turn to ask, which ‘Rob’ is this? I know several.

For those of you who want a $250 money grab for a little Internet research, see my entry on The PITS.

I’m not exactly happy with APC, the maker of SmartUPS’s this weekend. They made me do a whole lot of extra driving and house cleaning. Let me explain…

My new computer draws more power and my wife sugegsted we get a bigger UPS, no problem, or so I think. We run to MicroCenter, get the UPS, bring it home, and it fails saying it can’t see it’s own battery. Everything looks find outside and in, so back to the store, and without any incident the manager of returns reproduces the problem and happily gives me a new one, which we test right then and there, determines works, and I’m back home. That’s four 40 mile trips, all for one UPS.

The good news is, I hook it up — it works. So, I take the old one and put it one my wife’s machine. However, now there’s a new problem. They gave me some business class software instead of a personal version, and I’m too lazy to dig the original CDs out of the closet when I have a perfectly good Internet connection and can download it in seconds. Only problem is, APC wants to you register, give all kinds of personal info, which I did, only to discover their registration and download process was broken. So, it was off to tech support — which, I suspect will be less than helpful with a dash of unsympathetic. Here’s the letter, no kidding, as it went out to them:

I've upgraded UPSs, putting a huge ass one on my machine and dumping the small shitty one onto my wife's.... Now I've got two friggin' problems:1) The huge-ass UPS came with the business edition and wants me to install agents, servers, and a console. What the f...?!? I just wanna have the thing shut down nicely if I lose power, not alert Norad.

2) I'm trying to download the simple PowerChute software for the old UPS because I'm too lazy to dig out the CDs. You have any idea how many shoes my wife has in there? Only problem is, the SU700NET seems to be discontinued, and I can't find a download for it. Or, well, yes, I can... only it won't let me use _this_ user account, you know, the one I'm writing this support incident thingy with? And, when I do try to register, it just sits there. Much like I do when a box of shoes falls off the shelf and hits me in the head.

What happened to the days when APC was the no-brainer-it-just-worked solution?

Well, you know what? I can't get the software to download. So now I got to go into that closet. Shit, I hate shoes. I know you recycle batteries, will you take shoes, too? I just want my UPS to work.

While riding out to Las Vegas for the CES convention, I happened to get an over crowded flight and a seat next to some guy with a laptop. Curious as to what he was doing, a quick glance at the screen showed that he was composing a poem… about duct tape.

Not to rip off his work of art, but the gist was he got a roll of duct tape as a present, and that he enjoyed the sticky hobby of making himself coin purses and wallets by sticking the tape back on itself. You know, the higher kind of literature that society likes to read.

Just to prove that you all are more clever than my airline companion, I’m gonna pay $20 in cash to the person who submits the funniest poem entry about Duct Tape as a reply.

That’s it, no catch. $20 cold cash. For a duct tape poem. Long. Short. Humorous. Naughty. Whatever. …it’s up to you, it just has to feature duct tape.

Obviously the work must be original, I’ll be the final judge of what’s funny or not, submit as many unique entries as you like, and I’ll also post it in my main site’s humor section with credit to the author and an explanation of how it came to be. The lone winner will be announced Jan 24th 2006 unless I’m laughing so hard and wet myself that there’s no point to continue the contest, in that case I’ll throw in a $5 bonus.

And, yes, you may reply to a poem to cast your votes for it, hoping to influence me.