This never gets old.
I’ve been looking for the collected Venture Brothers seasons on DVD for years with no luck, and suddenly they appeared on Netflix’s DVD service (yes, we still pay to have DVDs sent by mail). I just filled up the queue with comedy goodness and bumped everything else to the bottom. By the way, there’s a movie coming! I sure hope it’s better than the Deadwood movie.
This is a hilarious note from the owner of a Porsche 914 to the next thief who attempts to steal it:
Now you will become adrift in the zone known to early Porsche owners as “Neverland” and your quest will be to find second gear. Prepare yourself for a ten-second-or-so adventure. Do not go straight forward with the shift knob, as you will only find Reverse waiting there to mock you with a shriek of high-speed gear teeth machining themselves into round cylinders. Should you hear this noise, retreat immediately to the only easy spot to find in this transmission: neutral.
So much of this resonates with me, and this transmission section in particular, given the large amount of Volkswagen engineering present in the 914: the entire section on the transmission could very well have been written for any variant of air-cooled VW buses.
Hank Hill, everlasting.
The problem is that certain kinds of stuff simply attract more stuff. The home is an obvious one: It craves sofas, sweaters, buffet cabinets, chandeliers. Computers are another; they grow USB tendrils.
I saw this being linked to a few days ago and meant to post it, but it was stuck behind WIRED’s paywall: Paul Ford writes about a Grand Unified Theory of Stuff. Having just gone through my computer collection and resisted the urge to buy things to fix them, this hits close to home. Having multiple hobbies does not help.
Last week I discovered that the gas strut holding up the hood on the Scout had ungassed itself, and set about looking to replace it. Looking over the manufacturer’s plate I found the company online and sourced a replacement in about five minutes. Because they are a volume distributor, their online presence is geared towards large companies doing bulk purchases, and their form would not allow for the fact that I am a consumer and only buying two items; it required a company name. I quickly chose something that described my ever-expanding manufacturing empire perfectly: Dugan Heavy Industries. When I got to the shipping section of the checkout, it timed out without letting me go any further, so I had to call to place the order. When the CSR took my order, she looked up my information and chuckled at the name I’d chosen; this was after I told her I only needed two pieces. (I ordered two because the minimum order fee was $50, one strut was $30, and I figured it was better to spend a little extra to have a backup on hand).
I think I might whip up a design and have some shirts made.
Plans are made for a return to Chestertown next weekend to resume work on the schoolbus. I’m working 9-hour days this week and the next to be able to leave Thursday night. Friday we’ll be putting in the floor and Saturday we’re installing the seats! They came in last week and are waiting for us to get cracking again. I’m excited to make some more progress and move the interior further along, even if it means we’ll be working in 50˚ weather in a shed (hopefully Brian has a portable heater). When that’s done we can start blocking out space for the cabinetry and built-ins, and that will make a huge difference in the visible progress to date.
I wanted to find out what was happening with the Olympics the other day. The only news I could find was about Simone Biles stepping back, and 99/100 of them were op-ed pieces with Bad Takes from assholes. So this was a welcome antidote: Are You Allowed To Criticize Simone Biles? A Decision Tree.
Wow, I’d forgotten about this excellent site: The Internet K-Hole, which is basically just posts of old pictures from the 70’s through the early 90’s. I am guilty of several of the fashion disasters here, as are most of my peers; I’m just glad I haven’t found pictures of myself yet.
Destroying planets and using fear of this battle station to keep the local systems in line was my No. 1 passion until — about 30 seconds ago, weirdly! That was when I saw the X-wings that had evaded our turbo-lasers and were proceeding down a trench toward our vulnerable thermal exhaust port — and realized I had to speak up. I thought: What if remorselessly destroying planets isn’t my passion? What if my real passion is staying alive and avoiding the consequences of my actions?
This is from a couple of days ago but I’ve been crashing on a big project at work, and it still makes me laugh.