Chair Repair

My wife and I refurbish and re-purpose old furniture pieces, as you can see from her blog.  K. Gilbert Designs & Unique Finds  Pictured below is a pair of confusing chairs.  Confusing because I wonder why someone would make an incomplete chair with a thin piece of press board as the seat.  Aside from the legs, the seating area should be the most substantial portion of a chair. 

As you can see with the one pictured on the left I cut a piece of plywood for the center.  This did not have to be exact because I was filling the crack with wood glue after taping the bottom side to hold the glue in place.

Then I began filling the crack with glue.  This took several applications due to waiting while the glue flowed downward.

After I was satisfied with the glue filling the crack I waited a few days for the glue to cure.  After curing, the bond will be stronger than most other parts of the chair.  Once the glue was cured I sanded it smooth and painted it white.

  Looks pretty good from that view, how about a close up.

Using an aged piece of plywood helped match the grain of the rest of the seat.  Now my wife may sell it as is or put an aged finish on it which would required some light sanding and staining.

Now it is time to tackle the other one.

RIP Keppy

I just found out that one of the people I write about has passed of natural causes.  I never met Keppy but I hope he enjoyed the stories.  I will post the obit as soon as it is available.  Condolences to his family and co-workers.

RSN story

And click here for more information.  John Keppy story on RSN

Lunch With A Twist

“Do you think I should shave my head and grow a goatee?” Keppy asked of his friend and boss Rickey Stokes over lunch at Bill’s restaurant.

“Why would you want to do that?” Stokes asked back at him.

“Well the shaved head worked for Michael Chiklis and everyone has a Harley and a goatee these days.”

“Why would you want to look like an angry fat man?  What’s wrong with being a jolly fat man?”

“I don’t know.  It just seems like the cool thing to do.  You could shave your head too and we could wear black t-shirts,” Keppy almost pleaded.

“I do not intend to shave my head.  My skull is bigger than most people due to all the extra brains and stuff I have in there.  Plus my hair is perfect.  It never messes up, wet or dry it always looks the same.  I want to keep it that way,” Stokes answered.

“I won’t even ask about matching hogs,” Keppy said, dejected.

“Those things are a danged nuisance.  You would think with as expensive as they are they would come with proper mufflers.  When I was growing up you didn’t want to be associated with Harleys in any way or the people who rode them.  Now every dentist and accountant in Dothan has one along with several thousand dollars worth of overpriced apparel.  Thanks but no thanks, I like being a unique individual, one with no distinguishing features, just an average Joe, easily lost in a crowd.”

They were finishing off the last of their fries from the late afternoon cheeseburger lunch when “she” walked in. Stokes, always seated facing the door saw her walk in first. Quickly he made a mental note of her distinguishing features as he did every person he saw; red sweater, large sunglasses, blondish hair, six foot seven, maybe six foot eight, could easily take Keppy in a fight even if he did have a goatee. Big gal, he thought to himself.

Keppy watched Stokes study someone entering the restaurant. The look in his eye was not of danger, but of interest. Stokes’ gaze lingered an extra second to study the person. Some people are easily lost in a crowd, others stand out.  There was uniqueness about this person. It could have been a beautiful woman, although Bill’s menu of mostly fried food attracted a clientele, whose logic falsely concluded bacon fat increased blood viscosity, allowing a more efficient flow through the cardiovascular system.  As a result, physical beauty was not a requisite of Bill’s.  If it was a beautiful woman she should be viewed, judged, classified and stored in his memory according to dominating phenotype.  Keppy glanced at the salad bar, allowing his gaze to momentarily affix upon the woman to and fro.  He was impressed with her stature and made a quick mental note to not challenge her to an arm wrestling match.

Both men returned to the task of finishing their French fries.  The waitress began taking the female customer’s order and Stokes supposed the waitress knew the customer.   Sweetie must have been the customer’s name due to how many times the waitress used it.  Stokes thought for a moment that the waitress never referred to his wife, Marsha, as sweetie, and “Y’all” was the best he and Keppy ever got.  It should be noted at this point that Stokes is a ten percent tipper or less.  A dollar was considered customary for a meal, two dollars were occasionally left when Marsha gave him that look.

Stokes noticed how raspy Sweetie’s voice sounded, which he attributed to cigarettes.  Every time he heard a woman speak that way he was thankful his wife did not smoke.  While they didn’t stunt her growth, they certainly affected this woman’s voice. 

Shortly thereafter another customer entered the restaurant that caught Stokes’ attention.  He was a cowboy, a big fellow wearing a proper cowboy shirt and hat.  His mustache was impressive, hanging low on the sides and covering his lips entirely.  Real men like that didn’t come to town very often, and if they did it was to the Farmer’s Co-Op in a much smaller town.  The cowboy rustled up to the checkout counter and placed his order, a fingertip to the brim of his hat obliged the waitress.  The cowboy sat down at the table with the tall woman in the red sweater.  Wow, Stokes thought, they must have tall kids.

As they finished the remaining fries Stokes’ keen senses caught something in the woman’s voice.  He listened more closely, not to the conversation specifically, but the sound of her voice.  After a few moments of studying the conversation at the table next to them Stokes came to the conclusion that she was not a woman.  Keppy was oblivious.  Stokes stopped eating and looked over at Keppy.  After a few moments Keppy looked up and saw Stokes staring at him, wide eyed.  Keppy stopped chewing, figuring he had ketchup on his face, wiped it with a napkin.  Stoke continued to look at him with a somewhat worried look in his eyes.  Keppy furrowed his brow.  Stokes rolled his eyes in the direction of the table next to them.  Keppy dared not look as he knew Stokes was being incognito.  Stokes tugged his earlobe.  Keppy listened to the couple next to them.  Suddenly his eyes went wide too.

Dread fell over Keppy.  Stokes looked worried.  Had five robbers come in with shotguns blasting they, nay, Stokes would have handled the situation easily, while still eating a burger with one hand.  This was different.  There was no apparent danger but procedure for this situation was not in their training.  Should they not ask and not tell?  Should they expose the woman’s real identity to the cowboy?  Surely the cowboy knows.  But what if this is a blind date, never having met her before?  He seemed like a nice cowboy.  Stokes imagined having to post a news story the next day concerning a surprised cowboy arrested for battery or worse. 

But listening to their conversation Stokes deduced they were good friends.  There was mention of fishing.  An image of a bass boat occupied by the cowboy and the woman in a bikini flashed through Stokes’ mind.  She fights to reel in a fish, which turns out to be a very small crappie.  They laugh, they cowboy slaps his knee, her bikini top pops loose but she catches it with her arms.  The cowboy looks at her lustily, her face relaxes from the laugh and her eyes become tender and vulnerable, wanting, needing.  She stands with her back to him and drops her bikini top then dives into the inviting waters of the Chattahoochee.  The cowboy dives in to join her, for some reason leaving his hat and boots on.  From underneath he sees their silhouettes against the backdrop of the warm southern sun as the cowboy swims toward her and reaches a hand out to hers.  About that time the daydream turned into Brooke Shields and that blonde guy swimming in The Blue Lagoon, suddenly he felt a kick to his shin from Keppy.  He looked over to see the waitress standing by the table.

“Here’s y’all’s check,” she said.

Stokes laid a dollar on the table, as did Keppy.  Silently they walked up to the counter, paid the bill and silently they left.

In the Bondy’s Ford Expedition Keppy asked, “What happened back there boss? I lost you for a second.”

“Nothing, Nam flashback.”

“I don’t have the words for the other situation.  I’ve never seen a big guy dressed like a woman.  Usually they are dainty.”

“Perhaps he or she considers that normal but what does that make us?”

“Abnormal?  No, surper-normal.”

“Well then my super-normal friend.  Do you want to go fishing this weekend?”

“No, not just yet.  I heard them talking about fishing too.  I’m afraid this is going to stick with me for a while.  You know I don’t think it would have been so weird if he was a dainty fellow that looked or sounded like a woman.”

“I know what you mean.  I’ve seen the documentaries where they say the clothes make them more comfy.” Stokes added.

"I wish it was acceptable for guys to wear miniskirts.  For those manly times like mowing the grass or changing the oil in your car.  Have you ever tried on some of Marsha’s panties?”

“I will try to miss the bone when I shoot you but I can’t promise anything.”

928

The Porsche 928.  My spell check allowed the previous sentence.  Why?  Because that says it all.

 

The Porsche 928 (pronounced poor-sha) was the car I loved as a teen.  The 911 was and continues to be Porsche's bread and butter but the 928 was the flagship of the fleet.  Manufactured from 1978 through 1995 was one of just a few models with a front engine layout.  During its reign the 928 was considered a supercar, although a modern family car would surely give it a run.

Visually I find the 928 appealing to this day.  The shape and curves of the car are unlike anything else.  When I would see one on the road I turn to admire the beautifully curved rear, just as you would an attractive woman.  I have never been too concerned with how the car drives, as I can't admire its beauty while sitting inside.  While I don't understand my wife wanting the fabric of the curtains to somehow match the sofa, I do understand that a black 928 should have some proper black rims.  Maybe it should be flat black, like a SR-71 Blackbird, the aeronautical equivalent of the 928.

Occasionally I search the web for used ones.  My wife will not allow a money pit so I search and dream without telling her.  I did tell her of one I found in California for $500, it ran but the windows had been left down for over a year.  That would not bother me, it bothered her.

There's one sitting in a yard in Midland City.  I stopped by to look at it from the road.  Joyfully it was already black.  There was a dent in the door.  I didn't approve of the rims.  The grass and weeds underneath indicated it hadn't been moved in several months.  I saw an old man in the yard.  I got out and asked if it was for sale.  His response, "You can't afford it."  I asked again, agitated.  He grumbled "It was appraised for $12,000, you got $12,000?"  I threw my hands up in disgust and drove away.  It might have been worth $12k at one point, the weeds underneath knocked a minimum of $3000 off in my mind.  Obviously the old man has no idea what the car is worth.  I have seen 928's from $15k-$25k that were in immaculate condition.

The old jackleg might not be so cranky if he kept the car in the back yard.  I am sure a lot of people stop to ask.  In the mean time the value continues to go down.  In several more years I expect an estate sale, where the children will try to sell the car.  I imagine they will still say "It was appraised for $12,000."

I might drive by and check on the car every once and a while.  Just to let it know that someone appreciates it and someone would love it, given the chance.

Bama Belles

“Ack!”  Stokes exclaimed.

“Boss, Boss, what is it?”  Keppy asked.

“What the heck did you just send me?” Stokes said pointing at his computer monitor.

“Oh, that’s a commercial for the new Bama Belles show.”

“I can see that but why did you send it to me?”

“Just a reminder in case you want to watch it,” Keppy said apologetically as he noticed Stokes releasing the snap on his holster.  

“Is it some kind of cooking and cleaning the house show?”  Stokes asked.

“Naw boss, these women do all kinds of things.”

“Well who is that man riding the motorcycle?”

“I don’t know him, must be their accountant.”

“Are you going to watch this?” Stokes asked.

“I sure am, Amie is kind of cute.”

BLAM

“Ow, why did you shoot me?”  Keppy pleaded.

“Because you’re stupid.  It’s just a flesh wound; you’ll be fine in a couple of days.”

“I know, but…”

“But nothing.  Look at that one woman, is she getting sassy?”

“I like women with a little sass.”

“Shouldn’t this be on the Bravo channel?”

“Well in the bio it says one of them chews tobacco.”

“Good point, but still I am trying to understand why this is happening.  I thought TLC was The Learning Channel.  Is this reverse psychology?  How not to act.”

“I’m hoping one episode will have them all in bikinis out by the pool.  Amie calls over her studly pool boy, played by me, to rub suntan lotion…”

“Stop right there.  You know I stagger my bullets, hardball, hollow point, hardball, hollow point, etc.  The next one is going to hurt.”

Martin asks...

I respect Martin for challenging ones intelligence.  He asked on a forum:  Let’s think about the persuasion of postmodernity in the presence of conflicting world views in SE Alabama. I’ve studied the philosophical views of Alasdair MacIntyre for over 20 years. A quote from his book “After Virtue” may be helpful. “My argument was thus to the effect that emotivism informs a great deal of contemporary moral utterance and practice and more specifically that the central characters of modern society – in the special sense which I assigned to the word character- embody such emotivist modes in their behavior . These characters, It will be recalled, are the aesthete, the therapist and the manager, the bureaucratic expert. The historical discussion of those developments which made the victories of emotivism possible has now reveled something else about these specifically modern characters, namely the extent to which they trade and cannot escape trading in moral fiction. But how far does the range of moral fiction extend beyond those of rights and utility? And who is going to be deceived by them?” (After Virtue, page 73)

My answer: 

The challenge to your conceit lies in the first sentence with the persuasion of post-modernity in this region.  Please give an example. The successful socio-political landscape, to me, is cultivated by the strictest of traditionalists, never sowing a seed of disharmony among the majority.  This region is steeped in tradition with the aesthete character being most likely to influence/emotivate popular opinion contrary to modernist views. Sadly, the aesthete overpowers the intellectual, not even listed as a character.  Why?  Power of persuasion, views contrary to popular opinion, and something that surely has been studied by now but I will call ease of information.  I was discussing with Mitchell (son) the other night the multitude of information available, but it’s quantity over quality. 

As far as the moral fiction affecting rights and utility, I see the fiction as presented by the therapist (modern day bloggers), post-internet, as a major concern.  Information is consumed and reprocessed, without validation or fact from bloggers at a rate unseen before, influencing the masses with more traditionalist views, giving post-modernity little grasp on which to succeed.

Late Night Whim Style appearance.

Here is my serious appearance on Late Night Whim Style. I hope to be a more regular guest, maybe adding some kind of Paul Harvey commentary. I know, I really need to do something more stylish with my hair.

Tommy on Late Night Whim Style