Day 30: Finish a Blog
What to do, what to do? That has been the question of the day for the past month as I counted down the final days of my youth by completing 30 things that I have never done in the 30 days leading up to my 30th birthday. Many of the activities were scheduled and planned out well in advance. Some of the ideas just happened to advantageously work their way into my already hectic schedule. And then there were those ideas that purely by the grace of God came to me at the eleventh hour. However, by the time day 30 rolled around I am sorry to say that I was plum out of ideas.
I had many admirable suggestions along the way. Some that I had already done, some that I never would do, and some that I just didn't feel were the right fit for what I was going for. Then there were the not so admirable suggestions like skinny dipping in the ocean (thanks but no thanks Deb and Mary) however I decided I didn't want to spend my birthday finding sand where sand does not belong. Someone jokingly mentioned a tattoo parlor down the street, and for a fleeting moment I contemplated having them put one tiny dot in the most pain free place just for the ability to tell people I got a tattoo, but then I decided that I should probably steer clear of activities that could jeopardize my grandmother's fragile health.
I thought all day and all night and was quickly running out of time. I had come this far, I couldn't just give up. So I did the next best thing. I found a way to make something I'd been doing for a while now magically turn into something I'd never done. Now, before there is an uproar and charges of cheating let me defend my position. When I began my exercise in personal growth no less than a month ago I also started a blog to keep a record of my adventures. Now, had I been a wise person I would have made my new blog the first activity on my calendar. But wise I am not (I'm hoping that wisdom will come with my newly acquired age) and so my brand new blog got cast off as nothing but a side note. So, because I didn't count starting a blog as one of my 30 new things, I saw no reason why finishing a blog couldn't be included. Furthermore, let me remind you, as I have stated before, it's my game so I get to make the rules!
Thus, as I prepare to close out my twenties so too I prepare to close out this online memoir of my many fascinating (and many not so fascinating) experiences. I think I ended up with a pretty well rounded list of accomplishments. Because of activities like the museum of tolerance and fasting and finishing the bible I am certainly a little wiser (even though to some I have always been Wiser (get it, cause it's my last name!)) Thanks to multiple not so low fat ventures like making butter and marshmallows and rice crispy treats I am definitely a little fatter. And then there were those endeavors that were just plain fun like my police ride along and playing golf. Now I know what you're thinking. Ending a blog for a new experience is kind of an anticlimactic end to such a fantastic run of life altering undertakings, but what can I say except I'm almost 30 and I'm tired!
Friday, October 8, 2010
Ready, Aim, Fire
Day 29: Shoot a gun
The constitution was alive and well today as I exercised my second amendment right. No, not the right to a speedy trial, I executed my right to keep and bear arms. With my parents in town for my 30th birthday extravaganza, my father and I enjoyed some good old father daughter bonding at the local gun range. I like to joke that I shoot kids in their homes for a living, but truthfully I've never even held a gun, let alone fired one, but, like most things I've done over the past month, it has always been something that intrigued me.
It was a small little range in and industrial part of town. As we entered the facility we were greeted by display cases full of hand guns and racks of ammunition and miscellaneous gun paraphernalia. It was all very overwhelming and exciting. As we were waiting for assistance we heard the man behind the counter mention that he was from Iraq so I was assured that he knew plenty about firearms. I on the other hand was a true novice. We approached the counter and the clerk asked us how he could help us, to which I answered, "I'd like to shoot a gun." I'm not really sure why he hesitated so much to hand one over to me. However, after some reassurance from my father that one of us was familiar with proper firearm protocol, he reluctantly relinquished the weapon, but not before giving us a brief overview of its features.
We were then asked if we needed eyes and ears, to which I replied, "No I've got my own but I do need something to protect them with." When our friend the gun range clerk didn't seem to get my obviously hilarious joke I shrugged it off to which he then quite dryly said, "I get your joke." (but obviously he didn't because otherwise he would have been rolling with uncontrollable laughter) Once outfitted with the proper protective gear and with equipment and ammunition in hand we headed in.
As the pops from the gun a few booths away resounded in the small facility I felt myself jump. I'm not gonna lie, I was pretty nervous. This was a potentially deadly weapon I was about to be holding. I had no idea what shooting a gun would sound like, feel like, even smell like. My father went first to show me how it was done, then it was my turn. I loaded the clip, inserted it into the gun, aimed then squeezed that trigger for the first time. Bulls-eye, right through the target! Okay it wasn't an actual bulls-eye but I hit the paper, so as far as I was concerned at that point it may as well have been dead center.
After a couple initial shots I hit my groove. Shooting a gun was fun! Now I know I wasn't shooting any high powered weapon of mass destruction, it was only a small 22 caliber pistol, but it still made a big bang and definitely accomplished the desired result. This is one hobby I could definitely get into. I wouldn't exactly say that I'm a crack shot, but let me put it this way, the man on my target during my last round didn't stand a chance.
The constitution was alive and well today as I exercised my second amendment right. No, not the right to a speedy trial, I executed my right to keep and bear arms. With my parents in town for my 30th birthday extravaganza, my father and I enjoyed some good old father daughter bonding at the local gun range. I like to joke that I shoot kids in their homes for a living, but truthfully I've never even held a gun, let alone fired one, but, like most things I've done over the past month, it has always been something that intrigued me.
It was a small little range in and industrial part of town. As we entered the facility we were greeted by display cases full of hand guns and racks of ammunition and miscellaneous gun paraphernalia. It was all very overwhelming and exciting. As we were waiting for assistance we heard the man behind the counter mention that he was from Iraq so I was assured that he knew plenty about firearms. I on the other hand was a true novice. We approached the counter and the clerk asked us how he could help us, to which I answered, "I'd like to shoot a gun." I'm not really sure why he hesitated so much to hand one over to me. However, after some reassurance from my father that one of us was familiar with proper firearm protocol, he reluctantly relinquished the weapon, but not before giving us a brief overview of its features.
We were then asked if we needed eyes and ears, to which I replied, "No I've got my own but I do need something to protect them with." When our friend the gun range clerk didn't seem to get my obviously hilarious joke I shrugged it off to which he then quite dryly said, "I get your joke." (but obviously he didn't because otherwise he would have been rolling with uncontrollable laughter) Once outfitted with the proper protective gear and with equipment and ammunition in hand we headed in.
As the pops from the gun a few booths away resounded in the small facility I felt myself jump. I'm not gonna lie, I was pretty nervous. This was a potentially deadly weapon I was about to be holding. I had no idea what shooting a gun would sound like, feel like, even smell like. My father went first to show me how it was done, then it was my turn. I loaded the clip, inserted it into the gun, aimed then squeezed that trigger for the first time. Bulls-eye, right through the target! Okay it wasn't an actual bulls-eye but I hit the paper, so as far as I was concerned at that point it may as well have been dead center.
After a couple initial shots I hit my groove. Shooting a gun was fun! Now I know I wasn't shooting any high powered weapon of mass destruction, it was only a small 22 caliber pistol, but it still made a big bang and definitely accomplished the desired result. This is one hobby I could definitely get into. I wouldn't exactly say that I'm a crack shot, but let me put it this way, the man on my target during my last round didn't stand a chance.
Thursday, October 7, 2010
Card Shark
Day 28: Learn a new card game
In a world that is so overrun with electronic gizmos, that power our existence, the magnificent simplicity of a deck of cards tends to get lost in the shuffle. (Pun most definitely intended!) I don't believe today's youth would have the slightest idea what to do with themselves if they didn't have their headphones jammed in their ears, their cell phones tightly affixed to the palms of their hands, and an internet connection always within reach. While I am not completely without technological reliance (I realize even now I am writing this blog on a laptop computer with a wireless internet connection) I do have certain old fashioned principles that I cling to. So, in my efforts to try new things I decided to try something not so new. I wanted to learn a new card game.
There have been plenty of times that I have had nothing but time and a deck of cards. Of course I know how to play the classics like Go Fish and War and the ever popular Solitaire (but sadly I tend to play that more on the computer than with actual cards) but after a couple rounds of those it gets old fast. I needed to broaden my card game horizons. I needed to fill my arsenal with plenty of rainy day recreation.
My friend's mom (hooray for Mary Love) was on hand to provide me with some card game guidance. First she attempted to teach me some new-fandangled form of solitaire. There was something about every other card being face up, and instead of having the aces at the top you start with a random card from the deck and you build up or down based on that number. And if that weren't confusing enough, to make the game just that much more challenging you could only go through the cards in your hand once. Let's just say that between the statistical disadvantage of only going through one rotation of the cards and the sheer complication of the game I deemed it unwinable and we moved on to our next lesson. (Even Mary told me she found that she started winning more when she started shuffling less, but I guess it's not really cheating if your playing against yourself)
I liked the next game much better. My wise instructor referred to it as Peanuts, but apparently it is known by many aliases including Nertz (which I think I have heard of before). I decided that neither of these names had anything to do with the game so I was going to give it yet another possible name, one that made sense with how the game was played, making both the game and the name much easier to remember. I call it Thirteen due to the thirteen cards in your stack that you are attempting to get rid of. Thirteen, as it will be referred to from here on out, is a game of speed. You are attempting to get rid of all the cards in your stack before your opponents get rid of theirs. Each player has their own cards they play on, but then there are also community cards that everyone plays on. It's fast, it's furious, it's playing card mayhem at it's finest.
Now, apparently there is also some sort of scoring system devised to continue the competition hand after hand. If you didn't get rid of all your cards then you must count the ones that are left in your stack, then there was some sort of a point value assigned involving multiplication and math that required too many fingers. In my opinion I think the scoring system was just devised by someone who lost, so they found a way to delay the verdict of victory.
Aside from the confounding complexity of the solitaire game and the superfluous scoring system of Thirteen (or Peanuts or Nertz or whatever you decide to call it) I found the games to be an entertaining way to pass some time. Its amazing how many different things you can do with 52 cards and some imagination. However, as we discovered as our night was winding down, that whole 52 card thing is kind of optional. It turns out one of our decks only had 51 cards and about 8 of those were duplicates.
In a world that is so overrun with electronic gizmos, that power our existence, the magnificent simplicity of a deck of cards tends to get lost in the shuffle. (Pun most definitely intended!) I don't believe today's youth would have the slightest idea what to do with themselves if they didn't have their headphones jammed in their ears, their cell phones tightly affixed to the palms of their hands, and an internet connection always within reach. While I am not completely without technological reliance (I realize even now I am writing this blog on a laptop computer with a wireless internet connection) I do have certain old fashioned principles that I cling to. So, in my efforts to try new things I decided to try something not so new. I wanted to learn a new card game.
There have been plenty of times that I have had nothing but time and a deck of cards. Of course I know how to play the classics like Go Fish and War and the ever popular Solitaire (but sadly I tend to play that more on the computer than with actual cards) but after a couple rounds of those it gets old fast. I needed to broaden my card game horizons. I needed to fill my arsenal with plenty of rainy day recreation.
My friend's mom (hooray for Mary Love) was on hand to provide me with some card game guidance. First she attempted to teach me some new-fandangled form of solitaire. There was something about every other card being face up, and instead of having the aces at the top you start with a random card from the deck and you build up or down based on that number. And if that weren't confusing enough, to make the game just that much more challenging you could only go through the cards in your hand once. Let's just say that between the statistical disadvantage of only going through one rotation of the cards and the sheer complication of the game I deemed it unwinable and we moved on to our next lesson. (Even Mary told me she found that she started winning more when she started shuffling less, but I guess it's not really cheating if your playing against yourself)
I liked the next game much better. My wise instructor referred to it as Peanuts, but apparently it is known by many aliases including Nertz (which I think I have heard of before). I decided that neither of these names had anything to do with the game so I was going to give it yet another possible name, one that made sense with how the game was played, making both the game and the name much easier to remember. I call it Thirteen due to the thirteen cards in your stack that you are attempting to get rid of. Thirteen, as it will be referred to from here on out, is a game of speed. You are attempting to get rid of all the cards in your stack before your opponents get rid of theirs. Each player has their own cards they play on, but then there are also community cards that everyone plays on. It's fast, it's furious, it's playing card mayhem at it's finest.
Now, apparently there is also some sort of scoring system devised to continue the competition hand after hand. If you didn't get rid of all your cards then you must count the ones that are left in your stack, then there was some sort of a point value assigned involving multiplication and math that required too many fingers. In my opinion I think the scoring system was just devised by someone who lost, so they found a way to delay the verdict of victory.
Aside from the confounding complexity of the solitaire game and the superfluous scoring system of Thirteen (or Peanuts or Nertz or whatever you decide to call it) I found the games to be an entertaining way to pass some time. Its amazing how many different things you can do with 52 cards and some imagination. However, as we discovered as our night was winding down, that whole 52 card thing is kind of optional. It turns out one of our decks only had 51 cards and about 8 of those were duplicates.
Tuesday, October 5, 2010
Chompers
Day 27: Teeth Whitening
When the lovable Popeye said, "I am what I am and that's all that I am" I believe he was on to something. I have never been one to worry much about what others think, or to bother myself with trivial self improvement tasks. But, as I have learned quite well by now, there is a first time for everything. Therefore tonight I would take a long hard look in the mirror, then attempt to change what I saw, starting with my teeth.
Truthfully, I just decided to add this activity to the list because I had a couple boxes of teeth whitening gel that had been sitting around for quite some time so I decided it was either now or never. When I got the product as part of a promotional deal I had every intention of using it and brightening my already delightful smile. But, as it has been said, "The road to [somewhere not so nice] is paved with good intentions." Now was the time to pull my teeth from the theoretical fire and brimstone.
I was a little apprehensive at first. Okay, I was a lot apprehensive at first. I looked into it a little and discovered that while teeth whitening gel is safe to use on your teeth, it can have a tendency to severely burn your gums or cause pain to sensitive teeth. Call me crazy, but that didn't exactly make me want to jump up and give it the ol' college try. But I thought to myself, as I do with many other things, hundreds of other people do this every day and they are fine. I'll be fine. So, out came the trays, in when the goop, and into my mouth it went.
Now I don't know the exact amount of time that the gel was supposed to stay on my teeth, but I'm pretty sure it's more than the five or so minutes that I kept it there. At the first sign of my gums not feeling normal (which I'm sure was probably just my imagination running amok with my fears) I spit the stuff out and gave my teeth a thorough brushing. What can I say, I chickened out. I also wasn't a fan of sitting there with the mouth piece in and either swallowing the toxic goop or letting my mouth fill with minty flavored saliva. So for the foreseeable future my pearly whites may not be very pearly or very white, but there mine and I love them none the less.
When the lovable Popeye said, "I am what I am and that's all that I am" I believe he was on to something. I have never been one to worry much about what others think, or to bother myself with trivial self improvement tasks. But, as I have learned quite well by now, there is a first time for everything. Therefore tonight I would take a long hard look in the mirror, then attempt to change what I saw, starting with my teeth.
Truthfully, I just decided to add this activity to the list because I had a couple boxes of teeth whitening gel that had been sitting around for quite some time so I decided it was either now or never. When I got the product as part of a promotional deal I had every intention of using it and brightening my already delightful smile. But, as it has been said, "The road to [somewhere not so nice] is paved with good intentions." Now was the time to pull my teeth from the theoretical fire and brimstone.
I was a little apprehensive at first. Okay, I was a lot apprehensive at first. I looked into it a little and discovered that while teeth whitening gel is safe to use on your teeth, it can have a tendency to severely burn your gums or cause pain to sensitive teeth. Call me crazy, but that didn't exactly make me want to jump up and give it the ol' college try. But I thought to myself, as I do with many other things, hundreds of other people do this every day and they are fine. I'll be fine. So, out came the trays, in when the goop, and into my mouth it went.
Now I don't know the exact amount of time that the gel was supposed to stay on my teeth, but I'm pretty sure it's more than the five or so minutes that I kept it there. At the first sign of my gums not feeling normal (which I'm sure was probably just my imagination running amok with my fears) I spit the stuff out and gave my teeth a thorough brushing. What can I say, I chickened out. I also wasn't a fan of sitting there with the mouth piece in and either swallowing the toxic goop or letting my mouth fill with minty flavored saliva. So for the foreseeable future my pearly whites may not be very pearly or very white, but there mine and I love them none the less.
Monday, October 4, 2010
Flap Jacks
Day 26: Make Buttermilk pancakes from scratch
Who doesn't love breakfast for dinner? Anytime my mom would open it up to suggestions for dinner menu options I would most emphatically propose having a delicious spread of breakfast delights. There was just something about eating waffles and sausage as the sun was going down as opposed to coming up that seemed to make it all taste a little better. So as my day was winding down and I had yet to attempt a new endeavor I racked my brain for something that I could not only fit in, but even enjoy. Then it came to me, once again the activities of the past month have paid off in more than one way. I remembered I had a jar of perfectly good buttermilk sitting in my fridge just waiting to be put to good use and what better way to use buttermilk than to make real honest to gosh buttermilk pancakes.
Sure I've made pancakes before, but it usually consists of dumping some powdery substance in a bowl and adding water until it looked like it was about the right consistency. For me the directions on the box were more of a suggestion. I have made pancakes that were a little more involved, but always with a boxed pancake mix at the heart of it. Tonight's short stack would be made completely from scratch, right down to the homemade buttermilk.
I found a suitable recipe (actually I found the only one that called for the amount of buttermilk that I had on hand) and measured out my ingredients and gave it all a quick stir. That was pretty much the end of the new stuff, cooking pancakes is pretty universal no matter what goes into the batter. So the true test of this new experience would be the taste. Would making the effort to take the extra steps required to create a delicious breakfast favorite completely from scratch be worth it in the end?
I pulled the first batch off, and slathered on a generous allotment of butter (homemade of course!) After I poured a second round into the skillet I couldn't help but take the first taste of my handiwork before it got cold. And the verdict is...not half bad. They weren't quite as light and fluffy as I had envisioned, but I have a feeling that may have something to do with my measuring and mixing technique. I'm not exactly what you would call precise, I'm more of a "good enough" kind of cook. And so for that reason I will most likely be sticking with pancake mixes of the boxed variety in the future.
Who doesn't love breakfast for dinner? Anytime my mom would open it up to suggestions for dinner menu options I would most emphatically propose having a delicious spread of breakfast delights. There was just something about eating waffles and sausage as the sun was going down as opposed to coming up that seemed to make it all taste a little better. So as my day was winding down and I had yet to attempt a new endeavor I racked my brain for something that I could not only fit in, but even enjoy. Then it came to me, once again the activities of the past month have paid off in more than one way. I remembered I had a jar of perfectly good buttermilk sitting in my fridge just waiting to be put to good use and what better way to use buttermilk than to make real honest to gosh buttermilk pancakes.
Sure I've made pancakes before, but it usually consists of dumping some powdery substance in a bowl and adding water until it looked like it was about the right consistency. For me the directions on the box were more of a suggestion. I have made pancakes that were a little more involved, but always with a boxed pancake mix at the heart of it. Tonight's short stack would be made completely from scratch, right down to the homemade buttermilk.
I found a suitable recipe (actually I found the only one that called for the amount of buttermilk that I had on hand) and measured out my ingredients and gave it all a quick stir. That was pretty much the end of the new stuff, cooking pancakes is pretty universal no matter what goes into the batter. So the true test of this new experience would be the taste. Would making the effort to take the extra steps required to create a delicious breakfast favorite completely from scratch be worth it in the end?
I pulled the first batch off, and slathered on a generous allotment of butter (homemade of course!) After I poured a second round into the skillet I couldn't help but take the first taste of my handiwork before it got cold. And the verdict is...not half bad. They weren't quite as light and fluffy as I had envisioned, but I have a feeling that may have something to do with my measuring and mixing technique. I'm not exactly what you would call precise, I'm more of a "good enough" kind of cook. And so for that reason I will most likely be sticking with pancake mixes of the boxed variety in the future.
Sunday, October 3, 2010
X Marks the Spot
Day 25: Use a metal detector on the beach
Since playing the Lottery didn't quite pan out the way I had hoped it would I moved on to a new method of achieving my goal of becoming independently wealthy. We've all heard those overplayed commercials for the companies who want to buy your old gold jewelry, and apparently, right now the price of gold is near an all time high. Unfortunately I do not own anything made of gold, but plenty of other people do, and sometimes they lose said gold (in addition to countless other treasures) while enjoying a relaxing day at the beach. So, armed with my new metal detector, I was determined to find all those hidden gems.
Call me crazy, but searching for buried treasure along the vast stretches of sandy beaches is something I have wanted to do since childhood. There were quite a few Christmases and birthdays that I was hoping there would be a fancy new metal detector amongst the finely wrapped gifts. But alas, there never was. And so for this, my 30th birthday, I took it upon myself to ensure I received the gift I had been longing for since my youth.
I pulled my new toy out of the box and after arming it with some fresh double A's, I threw some coins on the floor to test it out. I pushed buttons, turned nobs, heard some high pitched tones and then concluded that I had no idea what I was doing. It turns out this whole metal detector thing was a little more complicated than I had envisioned. So I pulled out the instructions and skimmed them, then when that didn't work I went back and actually read them. Once I knew what I was doing I headed down to the sand.
I was brimming with excitement and optimism as I began my search. What would I find first? Would it be a rare coin? Perhaps it would be a lovely piece of jewelry with a broken clasp. Heck, I would settle for a set of lost keys! As I began scanning the sand I soon realized it was going to be a slow process to find my riches.
I slowly...walked...down...the...beach, searching...and searching...and searching. When I got my first possible strike I was elated. I scooped up a healthy dose of sand into my sifter and shook it out until all that remained was a few bits of shell. I reached down for another load and repeated the process only to be met with disappointment. It was a false alarm.
I continued on, making my way down the beach and then back up, all the while keeping a close watch on the gauge and listening intently for that tell tale sound (or silence depending on the type of metal.) As I decided to wind down my search disillusionment began to set in. My very first treasure hunt did not turn out quite the way I had envisioned. But never fear for I will continue my search to find my fortune buried in the sand, even if I have to put it there myself!
Since playing the Lottery didn't quite pan out the way I had hoped it would I moved on to a new method of achieving my goal of becoming independently wealthy. We've all heard those overplayed commercials for the companies who want to buy your old gold jewelry, and apparently, right now the price of gold is near an all time high. Unfortunately I do not own anything made of gold, but plenty of other people do, and sometimes they lose said gold (in addition to countless other treasures) while enjoying a relaxing day at the beach. So, armed with my new metal detector, I was determined to find all those hidden gems.
Call me crazy, but searching for buried treasure along the vast stretches of sandy beaches is something I have wanted to do since childhood. There were quite a few Christmases and birthdays that I was hoping there would be a fancy new metal detector amongst the finely wrapped gifts. But alas, there never was. And so for this, my 30th birthday, I took it upon myself to ensure I received the gift I had been longing for since my youth.
I pulled my new toy out of the box and after arming it with some fresh double A's, I threw some coins on the floor to test it out. I pushed buttons, turned nobs, heard some high pitched tones and then concluded that I had no idea what I was doing. It turns out this whole metal detector thing was a little more complicated than I had envisioned. So I pulled out the instructions and skimmed them, then when that didn't work I went back and actually read them. Once I knew what I was doing I headed down to the sand.
I was brimming with excitement and optimism as I began my search. What would I find first? Would it be a rare coin? Perhaps it would be a lovely piece of jewelry with a broken clasp. Heck, I would settle for a set of lost keys! As I began scanning the sand I soon realized it was going to be a slow process to find my riches.
I slowly...walked...down...the...beach, searching...and searching...and searching. When I got my first possible strike I was elated. I scooped up a healthy dose of sand into my sifter and shook it out until all that remained was a few bits of shell. I reached down for another load and repeated the process only to be met with disappointment. It was a false alarm.
I continued on, making my way down the beach and then back up, all the while keeping a close watch on the gauge and listening intently for that tell tale sound (or silence depending on the type of metal.) As I decided to wind down my search disillusionment began to set in. My very first treasure hunt did not turn out quite the way I had envisioned. But never fear for I will continue my search to find my fortune buried in the sand, even if I have to put it there myself!
Saturday, October 2, 2010
Make Mine Music
Day 24: Learn to play the guitar
As a child growing up in the Wiser family learning to play a musical instrument was not so much a choice as it was a genetic requirement, thanks mostly in part to my grandfather. Grandpa Wiser (or Chuck to so many others) was an amazingly talented musician and he used his gift to instill a love of music in countless others throughout his career as a music teacher. As his grandchildren we were not exempt from his musical legacy. We each took lessons from him at different times, on various different instruments (except maybe Tracy, she stuck to her piano lessons with the incomparable Gladys Coyan.) My instrument of choice at the time was the Violin, and while it is still my top pick, I have thought about learning the guitar for quite some time.
Usually one would need to acquire an instrument in order to learn to play it. Lucky for me I already had said instrument in my possession. While there are unquestionably many benefits to living in a single family home versus and apartment one might argue that there are also certain drawbacks as well, not the least of which the lack of access to wealth of perfectly good property that people feel they no longer require and therefore leave by the dumpster to be given a new home by the first lucky passer-by. I have been that lucky resident on more that one occasion, but perhaps the best one was when someone left two entirely acceptable acoustic guitars, free for the taking. They were a little worse for ware and needed a little cleaning. One had no strings, the other had a small crack on the face, but there was nothing a novice like myself couldn't deal with. And now, over a year later the guitars were still sitting in my closet, unplayed except for the occasional jam session by my nephews.
My goal for today was not to completely learn to play the guitar, as I understand that would be highly implausible to master in one day. What I was hoping to accomplish was to be able to play a song somewhat recognizably. I chose Twinkle Twinkle Little Star, in homage to one of the first songs my grandfather taught me on the Violin (and just about the only song I can now even attempt to play) and because it only required three relatively simple chords. I began to learn the chords, which at first were awkward at best but seemed to get easier as I practiced. Then right as I thought I might actually be getting somewhere I heared that unmistakable snap. There went my A string (unfortunately for the sake of this little narrative it was not my G string.) As I attempted to progress despite my impaired instrument I realized it was an impossible task.
So while some might say I did not actually fulfill my obligation I beg to differ. Did I do more to learn to play the guitar than I ever have thus far? Yes. Did I actually play recognizable chords on a guitar? Yes (well if it were tuned correctly that is.) Was I able to play a basic song? Well, no, but I do have every intention of continuing my training. However considering how long it took me to take the initiative to start learning when I had a perfectly usable instrument at my disposal, I can't promise that the reprise of my musical career will be any time in the near future.
As a child growing up in the Wiser family learning to play a musical instrument was not so much a choice as it was a genetic requirement, thanks mostly in part to my grandfather. Grandpa Wiser (or Chuck to so many others) was an amazingly talented musician and he used his gift to instill a love of music in countless others throughout his career as a music teacher. As his grandchildren we were not exempt from his musical legacy. We each took lessons from him at different times, on various different instruments (except maybe Tracy, she stuck to her piano lessons with the incomparable Gladys Coyan.) My instrument of choice at the time was the Violin, and while it is still my top pick, I have thought about learning the guitar for quite some time.
Usually one would need to acquire an instrument in order to learn to play it. Lucky for me I already had said instrument in my possession. While there are unquestionably many benefits to living in a single family home versus and apartment one might argue that there are also certain drawbacks as well, not the least of which the lack of access to wealth of perfectly good property that people feel they no longer require and therefore leave by the dumpster to be given a new home by the first lucky passer-by. I have been that lucky resident on more that one occasion, but perhaps the best one was when someone left two entirely acceptable acoustic guitars, free for the taking. They were a little worse for ware and needed a little cleaning. One had no strings, the other had a small crack on the face, but there was nothing a novice like myself couldn't deal with. And now, over a year later the guitars were still sitting in my closet, unplayed except for the occasional jam session by my nephews.
My goal for today was not to completely learn to play the guitar, as I understand that would be highly implausible to master in one day. What I was hoping to accomplish was to be able to play a song somewhat recognizably. I chose Twinkle Twinkle Little Star, in homage to one of the first songs my grandfather taught me on the Violin (and just about the only song I can now even attempt to play) and because it only required three relatively simple chords. I began to learn the chords, which at first were awkward at best but seemed to get easier as I practiced. Then right as I thought I might actually be getting somewhere I heared that unmistakable snap. There went my A string (unfortunately for the sake of this little narrative it was not my G string.) As I attempted to progress despite my impaired instrument I realized it was an impossible task.
So while some might say I did not actually fulfill my obligation I beg to differ. Did I do more to learn to play the guitar than I ever have thus far? Yes. Did I actually play recognizable chords on a guitar? Yes (well if it were tuned correctly that is.) Was I able to play a basic song? Well, no, but I do have every intention of continuing my training. However considering how long it took me to take the initiative to start learning when I had a perfectly usable instrument at my disposal, I can't promise that the reprise of my musical career will be any time in the near future.
Grease Monkey
Day 23: Change my own oil
I have heard the story many times about when I was just a wee little one and my father found me underneath the car with a pile of tools attempting to turn bolts. Apparently my inner mechanic has always been a formidable influence on my life. So, as I prepare to turn 30 I thought it was about time I satisfied my automotively inclined musings. The oil in my car needed to be changed and I was going to do it.
I knew the basic procedure, however, to ensure that I didn't make an egregious mistake I turned to two of my favorite resources for information, the internet and my dad. After picking up the necessary supplies at my local Pep Boys I was ready to complete my do-it-yourself auto maintenance. Or so I though.
After a brief search (both under the car and online) I located the all important drain plug. Enter my first dilemma. Thanks to the skid plate covering the engine components the sockets in my tool repertoire were not long enough to successfully reach the drain plug well enough to loosen it's tight grip. This was the first of many episodes in which I contemplated defeat. But my determination took over and I resolved to finish what I set out to do. So I was off to Harbor Freight (if you've never been there you should definitely add that to your list of new things to try!) to pick up a new set of sockets.
With my new tools in hand I optimistically made my way back under the car only to be dealt another dream crushing blow. I couldn't get enough leverage to overcome the overly torched drain plug. I search my garage high and low for some sort of a pipe, or long handled device that I could use to gain the added force I needed. As I stood there, mere milliseconds away from once again throwing in the oil soaked towel, I spotted it. There on the work bend half buried under the piles of tools and rags and garbage was an old towel rack. Upon closer inspection I figured out how to release the bar from the brackets, and moments later I had my leverage.
I successfully loosened the drain plug and with quite a bit of skill I removed it from its post with minimal spillage onto my hand. I was elated and quite proud of myself until I realized my driveway, on the other hand, was not so lucky. The plug on the oil pan that I purchased had fallen back into place and the flood of oil pouring from the newly liberated drain was pooling up on top, then cascading over the edge into a rushing river of viscous liquid. I did have the foresight to put down some cardboard before beginning, but that was no match for the deluge of oil. I grabbed every rag I had and soaked up as much as I could, then moved on.
Up next, replace the oil filter. Never let it be said that all my new experiences of the past month were all for naught. Thanks to my pleasant cookie induced encounter with my neighbors, I felt comfortable enough to go over and ask to borrow an oil filter wrench for the oil filter that proved to be equally as hard as the drain plug to remove. If I was a lesser woman you would have heard me uttering quite a colorful assortment of expressions at this point. However, after a bit of a struggle, the oil filter conceded and I was able to remove it and install its replacement.
After replacing the drain plug, refilling the engine with new oil and cleaning up my gulf coast inspired puddle I had officially changed my own oil. Once I got past the many, shall we say, hick-ups and threatening to quit and take it to Jiffy Lube (or a less expensive equivalent) about a dozen or so times, the basic process was pretty simple. However, when you consider that the cost of taking the car somewhere and letting someone else do all the work for you is only a few dollars more than doing it yourself there hardly seems to be any reason for all the effort. Although, there is a certain sense of accomplishment after successfully defeating every challenge the auto maintenance gods could throw at me. And lest I ever forget this monumental achievement I have the giant oil stain in my driveway to remind me.
I have heard the story many times about when I was just a wee little one and my father found me underneath the car with a pile of tools attempting to turn bolts. Apparently my inner mechanic has always been a formidable influence on my life. So, as I prepare to turn 30 I thought it was about time I satisfied my automotively inclined musings. The oil in my car needed to be changed and I was going to do it.
I knew the basic procedure, however, to ensure that I didn't make an egregious mistake I turned to two of my favorite resources for information, the internet and my dad. After picking up the necessary supplies at my local Pep Boys I was ready to complete my do-it-yourself auto maintenance. Or so I though.
After a brief search (both under the car and online) I located the all important drain plug. Enter my first dilemma. Thanks to the skid plate covering the engine components the sockets in my tool repertoire were not long enough to successfully reach the drain plug well enough to loosen it's tight grip. This was the first of many episodes in which I contemplated defeat. But my determination took over and I resolved to finish what I set out to do. So I was off to Harbor Freight (if you've never been there you should definitely add that to your list of new things to try!) to pick up a new set of sockets.
With my new tools in hand I optimistically made my way back under the car only to be dealt another dream crushing blow. I couldn't get enough leverage to overcome the overly torched drain plug. I search my garage high and low for some sort of a pipe, or long handled device that I could use to gain the added force I needed. As I stood there, mere milliseconds away from once again throwing in the oil soaked towel, I spotted it. There on the work bend half buried under the piles of tools and rags and garbage was an old towel rack. Upon closer inspection I figured out how to release the bar from the brackets, and moments later I had my leverage.
I successfully loosened the drain plug and with quite a bit of skill I removed it from its post with minimal spillage onto my hand. I was elated and quite proud of myself until I realized my driveway, on the other hand, was not so lucky. The plug on the oil pan that I purchased had fallen back into place and the flood of oil pouring from the newly liberated drain was pooling up on top, then cascading over the edge into a rushing river of viscous liquid. I did have the foresight to put down some cardboard before beginning, but that was no match for the deluge of oil. I grabbed every rag I had and soaked up as much as I could, then moved on.
Up next, replace the oil filter. Never let it be said that all my new experiences of the past month were all for naught. Thanks to my pleasant cookie induced encounter with my neighbors, I felt comfortable enough to go over and ask to borrow an oil filter wrench for the oil filter that proved to be equally as hard as the drain plug to remove. If I was a lesser woman you would have heard me uttering quite a colorful assortment of expressions at this point. However, after a bit of a struggle, the oil filter conceded and I was able to remove it and install its replacement.
After replacing the drain plug, refilling the engine with new oil and cleaning up my gulf coast inspired puddle I had officially changed my own oil. Once I got past the many, shall we say, hick-ups and threatening to quit and take it to Jiffy Lube (or a less expensive equivalent) about a dozen or so times, the basic process was pretty simple. However, when you consider that the cost of taking the car somewhere and letting someone else do all the work for you is only a few dollars more than doing it yourself there hardly seems to be any reason for all the effort. Although, there is a certain sense of accomplishment after successfully defeating every challenge the auto maintenance gods could throw at me. And lest I ever forget this monumental achievement I have the giant oil stain in my driveway to remind me.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)