My job has me logging an average of 200 to 250 miles per day. I know for professional drivers, 200 a day is just a drop in the bucket. The difference is that I’m not paid to be a professional driver, though I harbor a tremendous respect for those who are. I admire the unsung long-haul drivers of America not only because they are the mistreated and unappreciated backbone of the economy, but because I have no idea how they are able to operate their vehicles safely for such long periods of time, under such strenuous conditions.

My biggest shortcoming is that driving by myself gets really boring really quickly. No amount of custom-burned music CDs, audiobooks, radio programs, or mental gymnastics stand against the relentlessness of endless stretches of asphalt for very long. I do enjoy the time I get to spend thinking about things (something I also enjoyed when I worked in a factory), but I find myself drifting in and out of flow, which is actually a very dangerous state of mind for a driver.

So after a while, you start amusing yourself with the little things. Like the license plates that read things like “404 HTM” and “133 BPM,” which technically aren’t vanity plates, but carry meaning to some, nonetheless. You start to count the animal corpses, viewing their steady decay in a day-by-day time lapse. You start to notice that after a while, those 5 dead skunks on Highway 94 smell almost like a cup of fresh dark roast coffee straight out of the grinder (or maybe that’s just a personal coping mechanism of mine).

Unfortunately, another thing you might notice is all the trash lining every highway. As I’ve said before on this blog, you’re never gonna catch me sailing with Greenpeace, but I respect this beautiful planet that God gave us, and do the best I can to take care of it without going to extremes like trying to recycle my fingernails. The trash itself, however, is not what I find so remarkable. It’s the composition of it.

It has been said countless times that the human brain is a relentless pattern recognition device. I imagine this functionality is amplified when boredom sets in. I don’t know if I’m the only one that catches this, but my brain recognizes over and over again that most of the fast food trash is generally from one source: McDonalds. I’ve even formulated a few theories as to why this might be.

Theory One: Sheer Volume

This theory hinges on the possibility that McDonalds serves more take-out customers per day than any other restaurant. Due to the sheer volume of food that goes out the window each day versus other restaurants, the McDonalds litter is a testament to their sales. This theory assumes that McDonalds customers tend to litter just as much as other restaurant customers. This leads us to Theory Two.

Theory Two: Littering Patrons

This theory hinges on the possibility that a higher percentage of McDonalds customers versus customers of other restaurants tend to throw their garbage onto the highway rather than a proper receptacle. I won’t go into particulars on this theory, because it can lead to to stereotyping, prejudice, and unfair assumptions. Kinda like how people think of truck drivers. Let’s just say that this is likely another case where a few bad apples spoil the bunch.

Theory Three: Conspicuousness

McDonalds packaging is quite distinct from most other chains. It is quite possible that the only reason I’m noticing more McDonalds litter is because the litter itself is more noticeable. Maybe I’m only seeing what I want to see so that I have a reason to post some more inane drivel on here so you guys won’t yell at me anymore to write something.

Who knows, maybe it’s all three theories combined, or maybe I’m just making a big deal out of nothing. I’m just curious if anyone else notices similarly irrelevant patterns in their daily lives. They tell me it’s a good thing to notice small stuff such as this. Maybe they’re right, or maybe they’re just agreeing with me out of fear. They never know what this crazy guy is gonna do next.

I will close with one more pet peeve of mine relating to all this. More of a PSA.

Your truck bed is not a trash receptacle.

It’s funny how people never make the connection of how they can throw all kinds of garbage in the back of their truck, yet they rarely have to clean it out. It’s like it empties itself! I wonder where it all goes? It’s still littering, whether they mean for it to blow out or not. Seriously, what did they think was going to happen once they got up to 60MPH?

[18-Jun-2009 Edit:  I followed a SUV into New Concord today that sums up the first part of this post nicely: "641 FML." Almost poetic.]

I’ve read EGM on and off since the early 90s, back when gaming was just for us nerds and didn’t command near the popularity and respect that it does these days. I remember the bold sense of humor and no-nonsense reviews were traits that really made the magazine stand out from its competitors.

But alas, as videogames have evolved and shifted into mainstream popular culture, so too has journalism evolved away from print media such as newspapers and magazines toward interactive, cheaply distributable websites. Magazines and local newspapers are going to have some tough choices to make as the years go by. Even the ones that survive may not remain in the same forms we recognize today.

I knew the day was coming when most of my favorite print magazines would disappear in favor of an online presence, but I didn’t expect it to feel like suddenly losing several old friends. I hope all of the recently unemployed staffers find alternate work quickly. For all the laughs they have provided over the years, it’s the least I can hope for.

As fun as it is to wax nostalgic with Sesame Street, I can’t say that I really enjoyed the show that much as a child. I was terribly averse to anything that felt like learning disguised as entertainment. My fondest memories from the show actually come from some of the more obscure characters such as the Martians, a.k.a. the Yip Yips.

The premise behind the Yip Yips was to teach kids about the properties of certain objects by looking at them from an alien perspective. Although this concept was by no means new or revolutionary, the Yip Yips were able to pull it off in a way that still makes me laugh today.

These were probably the simplest puppets ever featured on Sesame Street, controlled by only a pair of sticks. Yet I remember quoting them back and forth with my dad for years after, well into my teens.

Thanks to the wonder that is YouTube and some other kind souls who apparently thought the Yip Yips were worthy of preservation, my kids have now become subject to my crazy sense of humor.

So now, we’ve found ourselves going around in public saying dumb things like, “Book say Earth person have hands!” And the little ones oblige me by replying with the obligatory, “Yip yip yip yip yip!” It’s a strange feeling, to say the least – I’m so proud of them for having such offbeat senses of humor, but I worry that I’m going to make them as nuts as I am.

Unfortunately, Tabitha is not immune. While digging around for Yip Yip videos, we found one with a Yip Yip family singing a cute song that I didn’t seem to remember from my childhood. Of course, it didn’t take long before we all knew the words and started singing it back and forth, because it embedded itself in our heads. It’s getting as bad as Bananaphone was at first.

So, if you happen to see us over the holidays or any other time in the future reciting some ridiculousness back and forth, please don’t be alarmed. Don’t start making your way to the nearest exit while pretending to take an important phone call – all the while dialing 9-1-1. Just ask us what movie or show we’re quoting and we’ll happily show you what’s so darn funny on the nearest available interweb portal.

Just be careful. It all seems like harmless fun at first, but I must warn you: My madness is contagious – a grave lesson my family has already learned the hard way.

For more Yip Yip hijinks, check out what happens when they find a radio, a fan, a computer, and Planet Earth.

I began the restoration process by snagging myself a shiny new domain name, calculating8.com, and redirecting it to the appropriate subdomain on synthetik.org, calculating8.synthetik.org. I plan to eventually have the .com domain hosted instead of redirecting to a subdomain, but I need to upgrade my hosting plan in order to do so. We’ll be saving that for another day.

In addition, I have consolidated all my posts between my two blogs and placed them all back on KodyMyers.NET. I’m planning on taking C8 in a different direction – as soon as I figure out what it is.

Anyway, I suppose the software wanted to teach me a lesson for neglecting it so long. Upgrading has never taken me more than 10 minutes, but this time I ended up spending at least 5 hours trying to figure out why my redirect wasn’t operating correctly. I couldn’t tell if it was a bad .htaccess file, an invalid database entry, or problem with the DNS not propagating itself. After eliminating the culprit down to Wordpress, I found that a canonical URL feature had been implemented in version 2.3 that had apparently wreaked havoc on several peoples’ blogs that used redirects or customized permalink structures.

At any rate, it’s behind me now, though I’ve lost half a day getting it all configured. I’m starting to remember why I burned out maintaining this site. Maintenance is a menial chore if there ever was one.

More to come soon, I hope.

[Editor’s note: For purposes of contextual coherence, it may be useful to know that this post originally appeared on the discontinued Myers Family Journal before being folded into this blog. -KM]

I was always taught that no matter what kind of job I’m doing, I give it my best. I never quite understood the wisdom of this until I got my first job with a steady paycheck. The commonly held belief is that there is no need to care too much about doing a good job when you’re flipping burgers, mowing yards, jockeying a register, shoveling horse crap, or any one of the many other menial tasks that people find themselves doing for that weekly paycheck.

While working nearly every job I’ve ever had, I’ve observed coworkers doing the absolute bare minimum necessary to keep their jobs. Not surprisingly, many of them were students. Still being a student myself, I understand that holding down a job while trying to keep your grades up is a monumental task, especially when also trying to balance a personal life into the equation.

What these people do not realize is that such jobs can teach valuable life lessons that will stick with them well into the future when they get their “real” jobs. If employees can’t even expend the small amount of extra effort needed to excel in a “crap” job, how in the world can they expect to perform well in the jobs of with important responsibilities?

If only employers could see first-hand how prospective employees perform in a position of little responsibility, I would imagine they could save themselves a great deal of wasted time and training.

Anyway, I seem to have strayed from the point of this post.

My current job may not be as important as others, but I still take pride in what I do. Our fiscal year at the Murray Briggs and Stratton plant ended today with a record four million engines produced. Another notable milestone is the fifty million engines produced from the plant since it opened.

I estimate that only 150,000 or so of those engines were an indirect result of my efforts, but it’s still kinda neat to know I was a part of it. We even got some nifty shirts to commemorate our achievements with!

The plant shuts down for two weeks at the end of each fiscal year for cleaning and maintenance. Since we produced so well this year, we shut down early and my last day was Monday. Woo!

So now you know why I suddenly have found myself with all kinds of free time to write!

Seven months.

Believe me when I tell you that I’ve had the best intentions of sitting down and throwing something together on here for you to read. Unfortunately, it seems that every time that I’ve considered writing something, I’ve either gotten distracted by some shiny object or shied away from the daunting task of trying to condense several months of events into coherent sentences.

For those of you who syndicate the site, I’m sure you haven’t missed the extra clutter my posts tend to generate. However, to those who’ve faithfully and fruitlessly checked this space regularly over the last half-year, I sincerely apologize. I will spare you the excuses and simply resume writing here in hopes that someone, somewhere might still be interested.

Instead of turning this into a huge, monolithic post recapping everything at the same time, I plan to hit on several different topics in the coming days.

Until then, I’ll be gathering and organizing my thoughts. Wish me luck!

The deeper that Tabitha and I get into the Christian life, the more we’ve come to realize that we needed to tweak the way we celebrate Christmas. We’ve been trying to move away from the whole “Santa Claus” thing and instead return the focus of the holiday back to Jesus Christ.

This is not to say that we’ve taken all the fun out of Christmas and turned ourselves into a couple of Scrooges. We still exchange gifts, but we try to do it in the true spirit of giving and to commemorate the fact that Jesus once gave us the ultimate gift: The gift of salvation.

I understand that there are compelling arguments both for and against letting children believe in Santa Claus. Tabitha and I dealt with them extensively before making our decision. Ultimately, we let our hearts decide, but I want divulge some of the logic behind it all.

I remember that as a child, there was something “magical” about believing in Santa Claus and the Easter Bunny. The anticipation on the nights before Christmas and Easter was always overwhelming. I’d hate to be the one to deny that magic to any child, but if I want my children to learn the true spirit of these days, an unfortunate side effect is dispelling all the myths surrounding them.

Besides, I believe that there is something even more “magical” about believing in Jesus Christ. Santa and the Easter Bunny are only around a couple of days out of the year, but Jesus is eternal! And the best part is, when my children get older, they won’t be crushed to find out that they believe in something that’s not real. Belief in Jesus, unlike belief in Santa Claus, doesn’t have to stop when we’re eight or even when we’re eighty.

Jesus does not abandon us if we’ve been “naughty,” (as if “naughty” children don’t receive Christmas presents from Santa Claus, anyway) but cares for us even when we’ve hit rock bottom. He wants us to pick ourselves back up and make things right, and he’s willing to help us every step of the way. His teachings invariably transcend the materialism of Christmas presents and Easter eggs.

I suppose it’s good that we’ve made this decision while our kids are still quite young. Kristopher has always seemed rather indifferent to the whole notion of Santa Claus anyway, so when we explained the difference between the real St. Nicholas and the Santa Claus of modern times, he didn’t seem too torn up at all. He still gets to believe in Jesus Christ, a belief that will carry him much further in life than any other.

So this year, before we went to bed on Christmas Eve, no mention was made of Santa, or chimneys, or reindeer on rooftops, or magical flying sleighs loaded with toys, or industriously laboring elves, or a workshop at the North Pole. When we woke up Christmas Day, we baked a birthday cake, had a nice meal, and spent some quality time together as a family. We talked about Jesus, thanked him for his sacrifice, and exchanged gifts in his name.

And I have never known such fulfillment.

Well once again it seems that a couple of months have passed since I’ve last taken the time to write something on here. I’ve even managed to blow through both my Thanksgiving and Christmas vacations without writing a word.

Our home has remained in a state of perpetual disarray, to put it lightly, since Taylor’s arrival. Coupled with work, school, and Kristopher’s boundless energy through it all, I’m still not entirely certain how I still have the wits about me to form coherent sentences.

Ah yes. Taylor.

What can I say about Taylor? She’s quite a handful. People used to tell us what a calm baby Kristopher was. We agreed with them because he usually was, but mostly because we didn’t know any different. Only now do we truly realize how lucky we were. The mild and easy-going temperament of Kristopher’s infancy contrasts sharply with Taylor’s clinginess and incessant need.

I know several of you got a sample of her manner during the last few holidays. Don’t let it upset you if she cried when you held her. My record for “Consecutive Time Spent Holding Taylor While Awake and without Her Crying” currently stands at just over ten minutes. Mommy is the undeniable center of her universe.

We were worried that Tabitha and Taylor wouldn’t be able make it to the annual Brown’s Grove Bonfire – or at least not be able to stay long. At just over a month old, though, Taylor did really well. Everyone seemed to have a great deal of fun this year, especially Kristopher and his new friend, whose name I unfortunately can’t recall. All I can really remember was the food, which seemed particularly awesome this year for some reason. I must have spent half the night hovering around the snack table. We managed to snap a few good photographs which I’ll have posted sometime before next year’s bonfire… I hope.

Thanksgiving was actually rather uneventful for us. We didn’t really go crazy with the food this year, since we were just feeding ourselves. We didn’t even have any ham or turkey, because I most likely would have had to eat it all myself . In a way, the lack of extravagance kinda helped make the holiday a bit more relaxing. People tend to wear themselves out cooking and busying themselves with so many activities that they really don’t get to spend much time appreciating Thanksgiving and what it really stands for.

The funny thing about fall semesters in college is suddenly realizing that after Thanksgiving break, classes are almost over. For some, that means a mad rush of getting things in order before finals. I actually avoided that this semester and coasted relatively unscathed into a fairly respectable (but disappointing) 3.28 GPA after having to take just one final.

The weekend of December 17th we set aside some time to visit Tabitha’s family in Louisville. We exchanged a few early Christmas gifts, Tabitha got some shopping done with her aunt, and Tabitha’s dad, Kristopher, and I got some swimming time in. The pool heater wasn’t functioning correctly, and the water was actually kinda cool, but if it bothered Kristopher, he certainly didn’t let it show.

Like so many years before, we spent Christmas Eve at my grandfather’s house with my mom’s family. I always look forward to this because of the amazing food and the five dollar Chinese Auction, which has become one of the highlights of the evening since we started it a few years ago. Usually the items placed in the auction are of practical use. Sometimes, however, someone will throw in a gag gift that results in absolute hilarity.

I’m going to save my recap of Christmas day for a different post, because as it looks right now, it can and probably should stand out on its own.

Now mind you, I only have to do this about once or twice a week. The fan would have probably gotten chucked out the window months ago had it crossed my annoyance threshold. My propensity for laziness and my tolerance of annoyance sit on opposite ends of the same balance. I consistently find myself posing the question: Is this annoying enough to warrant spending the time and effort doing something about it? But I digress.

Yesterday (Halloween, for those of you still chronologically disoriented from the time change), the fan started buzzing so loudly I heard it from the other end of the house. So of course, I went and smacked the case. No effect. So I smacked it again. It continued to buzz defiantly.

So I did what anyone would do.

“Turn off the computer and replace the fan, Kody?”

Heh. Nope.

I punched the machine on the side.

The buzzing ceased actually, if only for a second. Of course this did nothing but encourage me to punch my machine again. I don’t often exact physical abuse on computer hardware, but this was turning out to be quite an effective stress reliever.

WHAM! BUZZZZZZ! WHAM! BUZZZZZZ! WHAM! BZZzzZZzzKSSssshhhtttT!

The monitor goes dark.

Oh. Crap.

As I sat in shock, not knowing what to do next, the machine started back up again on its own. I cheered from within when I saw the Windows XP logo, only to panic again when I heard that same terrible BZZZZZZZZT and saw the life swept from the monitor once more.

At this point, I began to process my surroundings. Yes, the computer was apparently fine – somehow. However, something very bad was happening with the electricity. To spare my old friend any more pain, I flipped the switch on the back of the power supply. BZZZZZZZZT. This was sounding serious.

I went outside and quickly inspected the pole that carries the power line that feeds our house. No smoke, no fire, nothing. So I went back inside to inspect our breaker box. While I was inside, a neighbor pulls in the driveway, jumps out, and starts yelling for my uncle who lives beside us.

Com to find out, a transformer down the road had blown up after a tree branch fell across a power line. The power line burnt itself in two and set a fire after hitting the ground. The terrible electrical noises I was hearing was the power line grounding itself.

The fire spread quite quickly due to all the dry, dead brush before the first firefighters arrived – not to mention that the wind was up as well. I had to leave for work so I didn’t get to see the drama play out, but when I got home the fire was out, power had been restored, and my computer was doing okay.

I’m really not sure what lesson to get out of all this. Perhaps, “Don’t beat your equipment so hard you blow a transformer?” I don’t know. At any rate I consider myself lucky on several levels. It could have turned out to be a particularly scary Halloween.

At least it made for a crazy story to tell.

Coincidence? Probably not.