We purchased a new microwave oven the other day. It has 50% more power than our old one so it cooks much faster. Plus, it is bigger.

It basically operates like our old one but there are some differences. For one, there is no door handle. Instead, it has a button that we push to open the door. We were kind of used to the handle but we will get by.

Another thing is that our old microwave had a temperature probe. By using the probe, we could bring our food up to a set temperature and hold it there for hours. This was great for slowing cooking stuff like spaghetti sauce or chile.

When our old microwave finished cooking, it would beep at us every minute to remind us that our food was done. With the new one, it beeps four times and then continuously scrolls “enjoy your meal” across the display until we remove the food.

So, if we happen to be looking at the microwave and see the display, we are reminded that we have food in there. If not, the food stays in there until the next time we need to use it.

We will adjust.

As a first semester Freshman, I had absolutely no social standing. This meant that I had not established any solid new friendships.

My roommate, who was also a first semester Freshman, and I shared the suite with two Sophomores. The one Sophomore was into the hippy life style and spent most of his days living in a tee pee in the woods with his girlfriend so he was seldom around. Unfortunately, our other suite mate was the problem and he was always around.

As a Freshman, my suite mate had been a member of a dorm gang. While not officially a gang in the sense of a street gang, they and their antic were, none the less, a force to be reckoned with. Their behavior was so bad that the college made a conscience decision to split them up and move them into different dorms. In short, they were a bunch of punks from Detroit.

Now, my suite mate carried that same attitude over into his Sophomore year. And since my room mate and I were new to the campus, we were prime targets for his sadistic actions.

Every now and then, he would assemble the old gang for the sole purpose of terrorizing us. They would come waltzing into our room, grab us and give us swirlies. (sticking our heads in the toilet and flushing it.)

Just by their sheer numbers, we were deemed helpless. The best we could do was to be passive victims. Any attempt at resistance would only add to their gratification.

As fate would have it, one week into my second semester, I received notice from my National Guard unit that I was being sent to basic training. And, since I would not be able to finish the semester, I made preparations to leave school.

The very day that I was leaving school, my suite mate, the terrorist, left for Detroit for the weekend. And since I had not told him of my departure from school, I held the element of surprise.

Armed with a can of shaving cream and a tube of tooth paste, I sought my revenge. First to his closet where I filled his freshly laundered shirt pockets with shaving cream then to his pants and shoes with the tooth paste. Next, I short sheeted his bed and sprinkled it with salt. Finally, I peed on his tooth brush.

I could have done worse things to him but I just wanted him to be the helpless victim for a change. I know it was juvenile behavior on my part but it sure felt good. And since he was at the end of a two year auto mechanics program, I was pretty sure I would not be seeing him again in the fall.

When the terrorist returned to his room on Sunday night, he went into a rage. My old room mate had made a point in not being around as he did not wish to be the focus of his anger.

However, a friend of mine from high school, who was living on the same floor with me, just happened to be around for the discovery. He said that it was quite humorous to see the tirades and even went on to point out the obvious to him; revenge is sweet.

All of this was reported to me when I was home on leave eight weeks later. And so, to give the knife a twist so to speak, I asked my high school friend to tell Mr. Terrorist about peeing on his tooth brush. This he did with much delight as he observed another tirade.

To this day, I smile about the event. And while I suppose that it is possible that I will run into him again some day, I find it highly unlikely.

The local liqueur store is offering “live bait”. Yum! I know that I really want some!

While they offer liqueur they also offer chips, cheese and jerky. Some thing for everyone. But now, it is live bait.

Perhaps you need some extra worms for you tequila. Maybe you want some fried crickets. How about some grubs; they taste like shrimp!

But, I guess it stands to reason that a liqueur store sells live bait. After all, fishermen do drink while they fish so why not sell them some bait to go with their beer.

They should also sell condoms.  They too would be a natural fit.

Our microwave oven died the other day. It was the last of our GE appliances. It will not be missed.

When we first built our house, we got a deal through the builder for GE appliances, so, that is what we bought. If we had know then what we know now, we would not have purchased GE appliances.

The first item to break was the stove. The oven control quite working and the oven heating element burned up. This happened 30 days after the warranty expired. I called and complained and they sent me the parts for free.

Next, the wiring in our clothes dryer, burned up, literally. I called GE but they told me that the warranty had expired and I was out of luck. I bought some heat resistant wire and rewired it myself.

Then the ice maker on the refrigerator quit working. We discovered that the ice maker did not like getting cold so we would have to warm it up from time to time.

Then the microwave quit working. And while the warranty on parts and labor had expired, there was still a warranty on the magnetron.  I called GE and they said that the magnetron would be free but it would cost us $100 to have it replaced. After some negotiations, they agreed to test the magnetron for $25 but I would have to install the new one. And so, that is what we did.

The final death blow came the other day as I was reheating a cup of coffee. I noticed that there was smoke inside the cooking compartment and the smoke seemed to be coming from one corner.

Upon further examination, I discovered that the plastic coating had bubbled up and that the metal underneath was severely rusted. Since it would only be a matter of time before it rusted through, I declared it to be unsafe.

All of the GE appliances have now been replaced.

As the old saying goes “Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, shame on me.”

I saw an ad in a car magazine the other day. It touted the fact that its’ LED brake lights turn on a 1/6th of a second faster than conventional brake lights. And, at 60 MPH, that translates into about 100 feet of travel.

I guess the idea is that when the brake lights turn on a 1/6th of a second faster, it gives the car behind you an extra 1/6th of a second to respond. And because the car behind you can respond quicker, it makes driving your car that much safer.

Conceptually, I agree with their line of thought. However, from a real world perspective, I don’t think that it will make that much of a difference.

The assumption is made that the person driving the car behind you is paying attention and not talking on their cell phone. But, the chances are that they are talking on their cell phone and not paying attention to their driving.

Don’t get me wrong, I think that LED lights are a great idea. I just don’t think that the 1/6th of a second is a great selling point.

Perhaps the car manufacturer needs a new ad agency.

One day, as I entered the garage from the kitchen, a wood chuck came running out from under my car. I didn’t think anything of it at the time. After all, when you live in a woods, as we do, you are bound to encounter a certain number of woodland creatures.

But, as time went on, I noticed that the wood chuck seemed to be hanging around underneath the car on a regular basis. And at times, I would hear what sounded like gnawing sounds.

Again, I dismissed the events. After all, what could interest a wood chuck underneath the car? Road salt?

Then one day, as I was coming back from Ann Arbor, my engine started heating up. So, I got off at the closest exit to inspect the engine.

When I raised the hood and peered underneath it, I couldn’t believe my eyes. It looked like my radiator had melted. The whole back of it was shredded. But what could possible have happened?

Finally, it dawned on me. The wood chuck. The wood chuck wasn’t after the road salt, he was after the anti-freeze. By scraping the back of the radiator with its paws and teeth, it was able to produce a small leak. And, since anti-freeze is sweet, the wood chuck was helping himself to a summer treat.

After we got the radiator replaced, we made a point of keeping the garage door closed. This seemed like the simplest solution to the problem.

When I related the story to my father-in-law, he found it to be far fetched. After all, that same wood chuck had been underneath his car from time to time when he was visiting us.

It wasn’t until he looked under the hood of his own car that he discovered the reality of what I was saying. There, before his very eyes, was his own radiator, shredded.

The wood chuck eventually died from lead poisoning.

The other night, Kathy and I went to the Ionia Free Fair. It was a typical fair event. We ate food that we would not normally eat, walked around for about two hours and then left.

When I was a kid, we would go to the fair every night after supper. I went my way and my parents went their way and we would always meet at the grand stands for the fire works.

The fair has changed a lot over the years. And while I realize that my perception of the fair has changed with age, I think that it is only a 1/10 of what it used to be.

In the old days, a double ferris wheel greeted you at the entrance. Like a glowing neon sign it said “welcome!” “come on in!” “we are having fun here!” Even if you were just passing by on the road, you knew that something was happening.

And right next to the ferris wheel was farm equipment; tons of farm equipment. Tractors, combines, manure spreaders, you name it, it was on display.

Well, the ferris wheel has been replaced with portable boutiques selling clothing and assorted junk. And the farm equipment has been replaced with hot tubs.

The Merchants building used to be a place that was packed with vendors of all sorts of needed stuff. And there was always a music store selling organs that practically played by themselves. And lets not forget the juice machines that turned vegetables into strawberry milk shakes, yours for $49.95. And the summer sausage and cheese merchant who gave out free samples. The Merchant building now looks more like a flea market.
The Floral Building used to look like a county park, compete with grass and pine trees and a working drinking fountain. And, in keeping with its name, it had floral arrangements on display. But the park look is long gone and what used to be floral arrangements has been replace with a square yard of sod with dolls playing in the grass. And people win ribbons for such displays.

But, there is one thing that remains the same about the fair and that is pregnant woman waddling down the midway.

Every year for as long as I can remember, there have been pregnant women at the fair. And we are not just talking pregnant, we’re talking ready to pop. It is almost like they were on their way to the hospital when they got this craving for a corn dog and an elephant ear.

Out in the hot sun, and due any minute, they can’t be comfortable. Yet, there they are, just a waddling away, and rubbing their belly as they go.

Maybe the father of the child has split and they are out looking for a husband. “Hey, look at me, I’m a package deal. Two for the price of one.” After all, it pays to advertise.

Well, anyway, at least some things stay the same.

One of the big things here in state government for the State of Michigan is project managers. Project managers seem to be the latest fade. Every time you turn around, you run into a project manager.

We have official project managers, who work for the official project management section. Then we have unofficial project managers who work for the unofficial project management section.

The unofficial project managers manage projects that are too small for the official project managers. But, if the project is big enough, you might have an official project manager and 2 unofficial project managers. (the unofficial project managers dream of becoming an official project manager some day)

On a project that I was working on recently we had a project manager for the agency who needed a telephone system, a project manager for the vendor, a project manager for the subcontractor, a project manager for the equipment manufacturer, a project manager for my agency, an official state appointed project manager and the personal project manager for the Director. In short, we had more project managers than we had people actually doing the work.

The project that I am presently working on only has 6 project managers. I guess my project isn’t big enough to warrant more.

Two of the project managers work for the same boss. I guess one of the project managers is a backup in case something happens to the main project manager.

And what do these project managers do? As best as I can tell, the state project managers merely function as a brake to any progress that might take place on the project. They hold pointless, mindless meetings and constantly ask questions that are not at all relevant to the project. But, I guess if they knew what they were doing they wouldn’t be asking questions.

When I was in sem, I got in trouble for using the word ‘gee’ in a sermon. Now, for me the word ‘gee’ is just an idiomatic expression. But for those conservative Dutchmen, the word ‘gee’ was the equivalent to saying God. After all, they both have three letters and start with the letter G.

The CRC has an unwritten set of rules for daily life that are passed on from generation to generation through oral tradition. Since I wasn’t raised CRC, I never got those rules. And thus, did not know the rule about the word ‘gee’ . Oh well, that is one of the reasons why I left sem.

A few years back, I visited a popular Amish community. Near the edge of town, there was an Amish farmer working his fields with a team of horses. I watched in fascination as he controlled his team by yelling ‘gee’ and ‘haw’. After all, both of his hands were needed to hold the plow so he had to rely on voice commands to steer his team.

As he approached the edge of the field next to me, I commented on his team and how well they obeyed his commands. Knowing that the Amish are very religious, I asked him if he was bothered by using the word ‘gee’.

Since he didn’t seem to know what I was talking about, I went on to explain what the word ‘gee’ means to some people. He thanked me for my explanation and then went on to say that for everyone in this community, the word gee is used to steer a team.

Interesting. I wondered what my brethren back in Grand Rapids would think?

I thanked the man for his time and then said ‘Goodbye’ to which he replied ‘and with ye’. Since I was confused by his response, I asked him what he meant by ‘and with ye’? My question surprised the farmer and now we were both confused. Finally he told me that I had said ‘Goodbye’ which is short for ‘God be with ye” and that is why he said ‘and with ye’.

Oh, now I understand. ‘Goodbye’ really means ‘God be with ye’. So, for hundreds of years, all of these good Dutchmen have been taking God’s name in vain. Gee, I wonder if they know that?

The other morning after the ultra sound on my kidneys, I needed to get some breakfast. Noting that there was a Steak and Shake right on my way, I decided to stop there for breakfast.

Unlike Micky Ds whose motto is “open until midnight or later at participating locations”, the Steak and Shake is open 24 hours a day. And, they serve breakfast there. So, I stopped at the Steak and Shake.

As I pulled into the parking lot, I noted that there was only one car there and it was parked in back. I suspected that the car belonged to the cook and that this must be a slow time of day for them.

As I walked through the doors, I noticed that there was no buzzer or bell notifying the staff of my arrival.

The sign at the door asked me to please wait to be seated. So, I waited. And I waited. And I waited some more. There was not a soul in sight. No one was cooking. No one was cleaning.

After a while, I concluded that even if the cook did come out of hiding, the service would be rather poor. So, I left and headed to Bob Evans. At least there were people there and I stood a better chance of getting a second cup of coffee.