I think I’m going to register as a Republican so I can vote in the primary.
Why? you ask… Well, it turns out that the Religious Right doesn’t like Giuliani one single little bit. They want to run a third party candidate to oppose him.
Go, Rudy, GO!
This via digby, who adds some snark about how the media won’t portray the RR’s power play as the Republican party being overrun by radicals. Cuz, you know, that’s how they portrayed the Democrats being herded by MoveOn.Org.
I’m an old pro at taking apart Vanagon front wheels now. Not that it’s terribly difficult…
As I mentioned in the last van update, I did exploratory surgery on the driver’s side spindle, and discovered that it needed to be replaced. Since then, I finally got around to checking the passenger side, and found it not nearly as depressing. One small spot of scoring, but nothing all that bad.
And of course this led me to doubt my sanity. Had I simply been too freaked out at *any* scoring, and overestimated the problem? Time to pull that wheel back off and check again.
No, I was right the first time. The shiny tapered part is supposed to be shiny and tapered, but if you look at the larger version of the picture, you can see where it’s been scored on the narrow end just where it shoulders down. Very bad sign. Then there’s that dark part with the grooves in it that’s supposed to look shiny with no grooves. Then the threaded part which is OK, except that the channel for the tab on the thrust washer has been deformed to the point that a) the thrust washer can spin around about 30 degrees or so, and b) you can’t actually tighten the nut to where you’re supposed to tighten it. Which I guess is actually not OK at all, is it? I have to wonder which of these problems came first. Chicken/egg scenario. If I were a jerk, I’d just file down the threads and hope for the best. But I’m not a jerk. Am I? Hmm.
So both sides get a new rotor, bearings, seals, thrust washers, and nuts. The passenger side gets a new tie rod end (the boot is cracked), and the driver’s side gets a new spindle. It’s all purchased except for the spindle and rod end. The spindle will be, as they say, previously-owned, and will likely have its own ball joints attached (cuz they’re a pain to remove). If those joints are OK, then Bob’s your uncle. Otherwise it’s time to get new joints, and rent some special tools to install them… Essentially a big fat C-clamp with special adaptors. W00t. I could re-use the joints that are on the van now, but if I’m going to rent the tools, it’ll be new joints.
Yesterday was pound-bearing-races-into-a-rotor day. CLANG! CLANG!! CLANG! I hammered on a 36mm socket to start the outer race, and the rear axle nut tool for the inner race. Then a punch, following the five-bolt pattern in the sign of the pentagram, clockwise. All you neopagans out there know what I’m saying, don’t ye? Just nod your heads.
I was going to do the whole thing on the passenger side (races, bearings, grease, seals, tighten) but it started raining, and I had breathed in enough brake cleaner already. The weather has decidedly turned for the worse, so I’m going to have to set up a tarp or something to work underneath. Ahh, the pitter patter of rain on the plastic tarp… The runoff soaking into my pants as I sit on the asphalt… The desperate retreat to the hot shower after working…
I probably tell this story every year, but I’m too lazy to to back and look and see if I’m repeating myself. I’d rather just repeat myself.
I grew up in Houston, Texas, a place not known for it’s long winters. Thus, for me as a kid, autumn really began in November. And my birthday is at the end of November, so autumn reminds me of getting a bike for my birthday.
It was a Fuji 10-speed. Red. It had aluminum alloy everything. After the heat of the long, terrible summer, the aluminum would suck the heat right out of you, just as the oncoming winter sucked the green from the leaves.
The gentle whir of the chain against the cogs, the small grinding whoosh of the tires on the pavement… I’d close my eyes to force out the tears from the chilly air against my eyeballs. Live oak leaves in various stages of decomposition on the ground, and falling through the air around me.
The absolute freshness of the bike. The handlebar wrappings brand new under my hands. No squeaks or rattles. No grinding sounds. Just the purity of riding a bike assembled a few days ago by a real mechanic.
It’s easy to imagine things. That any of these sensations are important, for instance. Or that I was in a race, or that I was actually going somewhere. Just in circles, around the block, around the neighborhood.
The next summer, age 13 I suppose, I rode out to Highway 6. A four or five mile trip, I guess. Most of it on the access road of the I-10 freeway, a place no biker should ever ride now, but back then, things were different. I told my parents where I was going, and they fretted and wrang their hands and made me wear a backpack with one of those reuseable ice block things in it, to keep me cool on my journey. As if. It wasn’t a conscious choice, I don’t think, but after that I seldom mentioned where I was going to my parents. The trip to Highway 6 became one I repeated often, using back roads through the suburbs.
Gradually, the Fuji lost its shine, though it always felt good to ride. Autumn is comfortable that way… Face the sun when it shows itself through the clouds, warm yourself when you get the chance. The newness is over, kid.
At this point in history, there’s a somewhat new bike trail that goes from near where I grew up, out to Highway 6, following Buffalo Bayou. I have yet to ride it, though I’ve walked some of it. I’m headed to Houston for Thanksgiving, and I suppose it’s a must that I bring my bike. 
First: Want something you can get. The best circumstance is to want nothing. I’m not being coy here… Many in this country want SCHIP, an insurance program for underprivileged children. The Republicans don’t want it, because it’s successful and good. And anything that the government does which is successful and good is obviously very, very bad, because its success and goodness isn’t as important as whether someone is making money doing it.
The right-wingers want nothing. They want SCHIP to cease to be. This is something they want and can get, so therefore….
Second: Learn to play chess. In chess, you win by forcing your opponent around like a bully would. Chess is bullying, really. Ideally, in chess, your opponent doesn’t even realize he’s being bullied around. He has no clue. You take whatever benefit your opponent hopes to gain and turn it around to a disadvantage for him and a benefit for yourself.
So if you want nothing, the Grover Norquist drown-the-baby-in-the-tub kind of nothing, you make it so that Congressional Republicans can vote *for* it, and then the President can veto it, and then those same Republicans can vote *against* it on the veto override.
Thus, Republicans can have it both ways. They can claim they voted for it, because who really wants to deny poor children their health care? (Answer: The slime standing in front of you claiming he voted for it.) But they also get what they want, which is to let little children get sick because they’re poor, and martyr them to the Gods Of Capitalism.
This is known as ‘running the game.’ It’s easiest to run the game if you don’t want anything out of it. Democrats (and pretty much everybody else who hasn’t worshipped at the shrine of Milton Friedman) want something out of it, which is why they lose.
‘Right At Your Door‘ We have crossed a threshhold (pun intended): Zombie movies don’t require zombies any more. No one needs to be undead, they only need to be contaminated.
‘Saw IV‘ How many of these goddamn movies are required before we can move on? Four Saws, two Hostels… Is torture REALLY that entertaining?
‘Dragon Wars‘ Hyped as ‘D-War.’ Shit blows up.
‘How To Cook Your Life‘ No, not ‘wife.’ A zen master teaches you that cooking is the same as living. And some chick steals apples from someone because they voted for Bush. Yay?
‘Hatchet‘ I like the tagline: Old School American Horror. I don’t like that the evil monster is developmentally disabled. It’s you normal people who are monsters. Really. I want to make a horror movie where ‘retards’ are chased around by a likeable scientist just trying to ‘cure’ them… With shock therapy. “What? All I want to do is make them better!”
‘Great World Of Sound‘ Robert Alman is dead, OK?
‘Beowulf‘ Robert Zemeckis goes to see ’300,’ comes home inspired, phones up Neil Gaiman, and tells him to write a script that would star Angelina Jolie. I want to see Gilgamesh instead, but that involves a king and another man, not a warrior and a sexy mama.
‘Drillbit Taylor‘ Owen Wilson will, henceforth, always make me think about how you can have everything and nothing at the same time. I want to go see this movie just so Hollywood knows he’s still bankable.
‘The Signal‘ This is the best trailer I’ve seen in forever. It says what it says, and makes no apologies for itself. It knows it’s an ad for a movie, and it knows the story is an allegory about mass media, including advertising and movies. It knows that you know the story already, having seen ‘The Ring’ and ‘Videodrome,’ and maybe some zombie movies. It’s a post-modern movie trailer, saying very little, while paradoxically being straight and to the point.
‘Mr. Magorium’s Wonder Emporium‘ No Wonka, no Charlie, but a magical toy store that’s losing money so they call in an accountant. How predictable will this movie be? Answer: Who cares? The real problem is not predictability but manipulation. Question 2: Does the trailer page resize your browser? Answer: Yes.
‘Trade‘ A serious movie about women sold into sexual slavery. But you know what the tagline is? “You’ll pay for this.” ExCUSE me?
‘Rendition‘ A bunch of actors I really like, a complicated issue I’m glad to see addressed… Why does this look so very, very bad?
‘Horton Hears A Who‘ Unsatisfied with having destroyed the Grinch, Jim Carrey takes bloody axe to the head of another beloved Dr. Seuss classic. Make this a double-feature with ‘Hatchet’ above.
“Are you a programmer?”
“Well, I can program a computer, and I’ve written programs.”
“Then you’re a programmer.”
“I wouldn’t call myself one.”
“Why not?”
“Because I’m not.”
“But you just said you could.”
“Yeah, but the ability to play scales is not the same as being a virtuoso.”
“Please. Not all programmers are virtuosos. So what’s the difference.”
“I’m not a programmer. I don’t program for a living, and if I did, I’d suck at it, I’d hate it, and I’d burn out in a month. I don’t like to program computers, I like to understand how to program computers.”
“That doesn’t help me.”
“I didn’t think it would.”
Ladies and gentlemen: Nexus Prime.
It’s a really amazing architectural achievement in SL. It’s the Very Bad Cyberpunk Future, where nothing quite works, everything is falling apart, and the upper corporate world is very different from the down-below decaying world.
I’m much more interested in the decaying world….
It’s easy to get lost. There’s even a sewer system to explore. This is the only ground-level entrance into the place:
As you look at this, keep in mind that it’s something that a group of people did in their spare time for no money.
The Future is a place in Second Life. You should go there. Find the Grand Central Station and ride the teleport tubes! Go to the Crooked House which should be immediately familiar to anyone who’s seen ‘Cube!’
One of the teleport tubes (“It’s a series of tubes….”) bounced me out to a sandbox area (areas set aside for building), and near that sandbox was a store. And at that store, they sold nuclear missiles for 500 L$ (about $2).
What do you mean, ‘handle?’
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