Summer Adventure in the Garage

The little orange car was done. Like all British cars of the time, it leaked oil as a way of marking its territory. I imagine the little MG lifting its leg when no one was looking and spraying a teacups worth of 10-30 weight on the driveway. Over a period of time, and with many leg lifting's, the sump was emptied of lubricant.

Once the oil was gone, the inevitable catastrophe was soon to follow. Now it's not technically the absence of the lubricating property of the oil that caused the engine failure. It was the excessive heat buildup that made the rotating and reciprocating bits grow in size until all the available space was occupied by those very same rotating or reciprocating bits. This led to scuffing in a main bearing. The scuffing led to galling. The galling led to a spun bearing. At this point, internal engine power was overtaken by internal friction. Then the engine failed.

I wasn't there when the great failure occurred. I imagine it was rather anticlimactic--no great cloud of smoke or billowing flames, just a silent engine refusing to respond as my brother turned the key in the ignition.

The car was my older brothers. He and the MG were not a good match. It was a 1964-1/2MG Midget Mark III. He was a 1959 model young man. What he was not was sensitive to the needs of machinery built by people stranded on an island and with a limited understanding of the magical and mysterious arts of fluid hydraulics, electrical conductivity and metallurgy. My brother now had to think about what type of transportation would better suit his needs.

My father had come to a different solution for his automotive efforts. He always had a Morris Minor to work on. And they always needed working on. British automotive engineering is something that great nation has much to be modest about. BMC cars from the 50s and 60s in particular are great toys for tinkerers, but not very practical for mortal humans. Dad was always a grand tinkerer, more out of need than desire, but he enjoyed it. And he passed that joy on to me, the younger son.

After the orange car was pushed into the garage and the bonnet removed, Dad and I noticed a similarity between the engine of the MG and the two used Morris Minor engines sitting under the workbench in queue awaiting their turn on the rebuild rack. They were the same underpowered, tractor-based, oil-spewing cast iron lumps we found inside the Midget.

A little research cleared the mystery. The origin of the MG name starts in the 1920s. A coach builder in Abingdon made sporting cars built on the chassis of the more sedate Morris automobiles. The name this enterprise took was 'Morris Garages', or more briefly, MG.

The relationship and shared parts bins between between Morris and MG brands continued for five decades.

After a few simple checks, my father explained the condition of the car and what would be required to repair it to my brother. I quietly stood in the shadows on the garage taking it all it. Brother had no interest in the effort or the result. He quickly sold the sad little car to Dad for a few hundred dollars, recovering most of his initial investment.

Dad's plan was to rebuild the MG and offer it back to big brother for the cost of the repairs required. It was summertime and I had time to kill, so when he asked if I wanted to help I jumped at the chance. By that time I have several hundred hours of experience working on the various Morris cars that had passed through the garage. Since recently learning of their shared lineage, I was excited to work on the exotic looking two-seater.

It was a great summer adventure in the garage. In grease-stained jeans, with the smell of gasoline fumes boiling off our poor man’s part cleaning sink, I was having the time of my life.

The MG was perfectly sized for the cramped garage workshop. Fluids were drained. Wires were disconnected. Nuts and bolts were removed. The engine-transmission assembly was hoisted from the engine bay with a simple ratcheting chain comealong attached to a 4x4 post placed cross ways over the ceiling joists.

Dad knew what every part of the car did and how it did it. As each part was removed, its purpose and method was described. My occasional questions were answered immediately and with a tone of sure confidence. The disassembly process was painstakingly methodical and immensely instructional. When he came across something that he did not recognized, which was rare, we discussed it as peers. I now suspect that was his way of allowing me to feel like I was contributing.

The bare engine block was sent to the big city for machining. To most, Merced is not really that big of a city, but to a fourteen year old kid who use a skateboard as primary transportation, it was surely that. Several days passed. The iron lump appeared soon enough and the reassembly began. New cardboard packaged gasket sets, tubes of sealants, piston rings and the rest were laid out for inspection. But first we had to clean. The gleaming parts were scrubbed once again in the gasoline filled pan. It’s a wonderful solvent if the risk of self-immolation is not a concern. Once air dried on the back patio, assembly could begin.

The parts went together much easier than they came apart. The absence of fourteen years of greasy dirt buildup was the reason.

Soon the engine-transmission assembly was back on its way to its proper home in the car. We tightened what was loose, filled with fluid those reservoirs that needed filling, trickled a few drops of clean gasoline into the twin side draft SU carbs and waited. One final check all around was required.

“Wheels chocked?”

“Securely,” I replied.

“Is the fire extinguisher ready?”

I kept my replies short and on point. “By my side.”

“Do you want to turn the key?”

“No Dad. ...in case something goes wrong.”

It started on the second try. Blue-grey smoke belched from the exhaust pipe as the oil in the combustion chambers burned off.

The little 948cc engine soon settled into a steady 850 RPM chug. It was a long final day installing the engine. The sun had set several hours before, but we were ready to give it a go.

After a quick look outside the garage to check for any unforeseen conditions, Dad continued. “It’s too dark for a long drive on the fresh rebuild. It would be safe if I only went around the block. Want to ride with me?”

I was safely belted in the right seat with the door shut before he had a chance to change his mind.

In the open air with the top down, the little sports car was magical. Even at low speed, you felt like you were doing something dangerous. Sounds were crisper. Smells from both inside and outside of the car were more aromatic. You sat low to the ground, very low. It felt like you could drive under other cars with ease.

The trip around the block was too short for me. We pulled into the garage and made a detailed check for anything that might be amiss. All appeared to be fine, so we put the tools away, washed our greasy hands and called it a night.

The next morning, while riding my skateboard on the sidewalk in front of the house, I noticed my brother and father were having a discussion in the garage. My brother returned to the house as my father walked down the driveway towards me.

“He does not want the car back,” Dad said. Brother realized it was time to move on. He had not been blessed with Dad's automotive tinkering abilities. And move on he did, to big sturdy American cars with V-8 engines and back seats.

My heart sank. I knew that the little MG would have to be sold and I’d never get to ride in it once it was gone.

With a graceful underhand toss, Dad threw the small key ring in a high arc to me. “That makes it’s yours.”

Who is Mom?

This piece, written sixteen years ago, and slightly revised recently, is dedicated to mothers everywhere.

Who is Mom?

Mom is the person who takes care of us when we're young, or grown. She's the person that always has time--time to listen, time to care, time to answer and explain. She's the one that always has time to feed us, clothe us, drive us, teach us, and yes, discipline us.

She is the one who always has time to make our lives better.

She's the one who teaches us to eat our vegetables, brush our teeth, leave muddy boots outside, get good grades...and flush.

She teaches us not to lie, not to cheat, and to play fair in life.

She might be the first person to introduce us to Jesus.

Long hours, diaper changes, 2AM feedings, skinned knees, broken toys and broken hearts, all of these we take to her. Her reward is an unending truckload of laundry. This is what Mom has to look forward to, or back upon.

There is also the phone calls mothers may receive--from the Vice Principal, from our friends parents, and from girlfriends/boyfriends.

Mom is the one who cries when we move out; cries when we get married; cries when we make her a Grandmother.

Who is Mom? She is an officer in the Marine Corp of life. Semper Fidelis--Always faithful.

Thanks Mom.

Portland

Portland is an old city. Not in a bad way though. I can imagine the time when it was a logging and lumber center on the west side of the nation. It still has a significant manufacturing presence. The old downtown is spotted with low rise buildings of rough red brick against a backdrop of newer, taller building with less character.

The light rail system is efficient and inexpensive. It would have been better if it have been built underground as one local said during one of my many clandestine listening moments. The core area even has a 'free travel' zone.

It may have its litter and grafitti covered neighborhoods, but from what I saw, there was little of this urban debris anywhere. It almost made me homesick for California.

The city has an interesting mix of cultures. Clothing is only one part of cultural diversity, but it a demonstrative clue to an observer. During my brief walking trip downtown I saw all sorts of attire--running gear, bicycle shorts (that always look odd to me when the person wearing them is on foot), casual business wear, a bit of flannel and more than one woman dressed head to toe in black with only their face exposed.

The old buildings appear to be fighting architecural progress. One rough brick building by the Steel Bridge caught my eye. It was fully enclosed by a chain link fence with 'No Tresspassing" warning signs attached. I had to take a picture of it before it is torn down. In the small fisure of one cracked concrete window sill grew a single dandelion. I wondered what interesting stories this building could tell if given a conscience voice.

Portland is now on my list of cities I would like to visit again.

Crying over lost zeros and ones

It all started with a nearly silent hum. I paid it little attention. The second symptom was a slight vibration. If the laptop was on a hard surface such as a wooden desk the vibration and sound was amplified it seemed.

Yes, I should have acted on the warning signs. I didn't then and am now paying the price.


The hard drive failed. It's a horrible feeling to know that data, text and image documents and contact records I have spent hours creating or archiving may be lost forever. Time to backup your hard drives and important documents people. Stop reading and go do that right now.

As painful as this computer catastrophy has been, the optimist in me thinks that this will be an opportunity to improve how I work and live. Without the equipment failure I would not be thinking about how I plan to sort and store files in the future. Now go back up those files my friends. Yes, back up.


Like the annual Spring cleaning ritual closets and garages undergo, this unplanned exercise in digital reorganization will lead me to a better (and more secure) solution to file management. Now go back up! I'm not gonna tell you again.

Green Reprinters

Product Development Idea of the Week: Green is all the rage. Hurrah for us for saving the planet.

One overlooked green initiative is recycling paper. Yes I know that paper is routinely recycled in mass everywhere. I'm suggesting directly recycling paper, specifically used paper from the office. Memos, draft documents, spreadsheets--all could be used again without the unnecessary steps of reducing the paper to pulp then back to paper. That just seems like a waste in itself. Paper -> paper is used -> collect big piles of used paper -> move big piles someplace where they make that pile into something that is not paper, but still a big pile -> make the pile back into paper -> move paper back to the place where it will soon become used paper again. For visual leaning people I have created the process graph shown below.


My model is much simpler and will create demand for jobs and new technology. You might recall that some typewriters had erasing ribbons as well as ink ribbons. I remember my sister had a Correcting Selectric II with integrated erasing ribbon. Now as I recall it didn't actually erase the ink as apply a thin coating of a paper-white material that would cover the ink.

Typewriters are long gone from most offices. But paper documents that have served their useful life are still with us. Why not recycle them directing in the office without the wasteful paper->not paper->paper process?

This is how I propose it be done. Computer printers put ink onto paper. For inkjet styles they actually us a tiny jets of ink. Many tiny jets of ink. Yes, really, that's how it is done. Why not make white ink? You could then send those documents back through the printer and cover up the original ink with white ink. Like magic you have a white piece of paper. How simple would that be. Paper purchased would be virtually non-existent. As a new employee, along with your badge and benefits documents you could be issued ten sheets of paper. These sheets would stay with you throughout your career, recycled with white ink and used over and over again.

A pool of people might be needed to do all the actual unprinting activity thereby creating jobs. This pool of people might by called the unprinting pool.

Printer manufacturing companies could even make dedicated unprinters as well as the white inkjet cartridges.

Wow, with one simple idea I might have solved two important issues society is facing--excessive waste material management and unemployment.

Note: No paper, typewriters, ink, print cartridges or inkjet printers were harmed in the creation of the blog article. All ideas are the intellectual property of Garrison Douglas. If you would like to use this idea for use in your office, please contact for Mr. Douglas directly for licensing instructions and limitations.

For a serious take on the impact of printed media read a blog post titled 'Too much emphasis on ERP, not enough on BRP barely repeatable processes) by Joe McKendrick.

Traveling Fool

You know it’ll be a good travel day when the mistakes come early. When I travel something inevitably goes wrong. Nothing of a cataclysmic nature occurs—they’re minor, annoyances really. But something will always go wrong.

I like to start with problems early and get them out of the way. It’s less stressful that way. This trip to Portland began with a minor problem—at which terminal will I start the air portion of my travel? It was a Delta ticket but operated by Horizon Airlines. Delta = terminal A; Horizon = terminal B—I see no possible problems of clarity for a novice traveler like myself. I take three or four trips per year requiring such conveyances, so let us agree to call me an infrequent traveler. Delta? Horizon? Delta? ‘Eff’ it, I’ll start at the Delta gate and see what happens. Terminal A, here I come. As an infrequent air traveler, one that is never described as normal by any metric, I guessed wrong.

The line was short. The Delta counter agents were mixing it up with the traveling hoard, directing them to the open self-help kiosk terminals. “Step right up. This one is open.” How many times must these pedestrian traffic directors repeat these phrases in any given day?

Just as I began to input my travel information on the kiosk screen, the system decides to cycle through a reboot. Five attempts later I give up and catch the eye of one of the blue-vested customer herders. She directed me to the line that was quickly forming as travelers realized the only way to get a boarding pass was at the actual counter. I got in line only to hear the announcement that the kiosk was now rebooted and ready to serve customers again. I returned to the fickle robotic agent and entered the nine digits of my ticket number and pressed ‘Next’. Nothing, then the screen flickered in a menacing manner. “You must enter a 14-16 digit ticket number to proceed.” What about my nine digit ticket number? I was confusion, wondering if I had been given a bogus ticket.

I waved for assistance. The agent, this one of flesh and blood, shook her head at this pathetic traveler, and with a weary voice, directed me to walk the seven minutes to Terminal B and check-in at the Horizon Air counter.

With the assistance of the helpful Horizon counter agent I was soon on my way up the stairs to gate 24.

Now, shaken by my trivial travel woes, I wondered if this is not all part of some sinister traveler IQ test. If you fail, you don’t get to travel. Pass the test and away you go. Are they secretly assigning status categories to travelers? Not the openly discussed silver-gold-admiral-million- mile-type categories that are universally used to segregate travelers and that simplify the travel discrimination process. I’m referring to the categories that are never discussed in public. These are the traveler intelligence categories and have no relationship to personal IQ. I hypothesize these categories are ranked in order of travel competence: idiot, fool, normal, smart, genius.

I’ll be proudly displaying my self-assigned ‘fool traveler’ credentials. Wow, it feels good to be upgraded from ‘idiot’.

Next time I travel to Hawaii I’d like to avoid all the air travel stress. I’ll just take the train instead.

Rack Mount PC

Ah the allusive 19" rack mount personal computer. I want one. There is not logical reasoning behind this other than I want one. Full height or half-rack is the first question that needs to be addressed. I'm leaning toward the full rack. Blank spaces can be covered with panels until the need to populate the rack with necessary and critical equipment arises.

Possible components of this rack would include not only the PC, but other utilitarian items. The list of such devices will be shown immediately below:

UPS: as an uninterruptible power supply, which oddly enough is use when the utility supplied power is interrupted. It will need to be mounted near the bottom of the rack to keep the center of gravity low. Cornering capability is highly underrated by most rack mount experts. It's a significantly more important than straight line speed.

NTP: network time protocol devices are used to provide accurate time to a network. I need this so I can track exactly when I update my Facebook status. "I'm now taking a shower. Well not exactly, but I am naked, typing over my rack-mounted PC on Facebook, but I intend to get in the shower soon. I thought you should know." Yes, that sort of FB update. The critical kind that needs, verily I say unto thee, demands an accurate time stamp. The world might end if it didn't.

A digital temperature display for the internal rack temperature. It's like the low oil pressure light on your 1987 Buick. It must absolutely work so that you know when you need to pull over to the side of the road or save the latest great novel in MS Word mid sentence.

A touch panel, rack mount monitor will be required. As will a 1RU rack mount keyboard with touch pad. That should complete the whole input/output requirements. Do they make a rack mount printer? Research is needed on the subject.

Since the rack with contain a keyboard, a video monitor and a mouse-like input device, then a KVM switch is mandatory also.

All this hardware needs to be supported by adequate and secure data storage. You can see where this is going now can't you? As you already guessed, it must be secured in a RAID array. According to Wikipedia a raid array is, "an acronym for redundant array of inexpensive disks or redundant array of independent disks." But who can trust an open encyclopedia. Someone might have made all this 'RAID' stuff up as an elaborate way for the IT department to get pizza and beer money.

"Hey, let's tell the CEO we need to update from RAID 1 to RAID 5 to protect the company from data loss."

"Cool. We were getting low on PBR in the server room."

I don't know what kind of beer the guys and gals of IT prefer. The whole PBR comment was conjecture. For all I know they might be Coors folks. I've never been invited to their server room beer blasts. I suspect they occur; I just don't have any proof.

The rack needs to be secured against the wall so that in the event we have one of those ground wiggling things happens, I think they're called ground quaking events, the rack will not fall over and crush me or a guest. (No, I've never had any guests, but it theoretically could happen.) A wireless connection between the KVM and the desktop keyboard, monitor and mouse will be needed. Come on now, who would think it practical or ergonomically efficient to sit next to a six foot tall rack, working off some clunky pullout keyboard viewing a 9" monitor that is mounted too high. That's just silly.

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Or, I could just buy a new laptop.

Typos and Clunky Grammar -- Why I Write In Spite of Them

I write, sometimes well and sometimes with errors. This does not prevent me from writing you see as I am a writer. What I need to work on is editing. But editing is so much work and I'm limited in my capability to see my own errors. I don't claim to have the skills to be an editor, so I write.

At the risk of creating competition, I encourage you to write as well. "But I'll make mistakes and misspellings and break the grammar rules", you say. I'll forgive you.

Write. Write well if you can. Write better than you did last week or last year. I'd like to see what you come up with. Send me link or post a comment here on this blog.

Do runners stop running if they can't complete a marathon in less than four hours? I choose to put my effort not towards running, but writing, so I write. And sometimes I begin sentences with the word 'and'.

I'll get the occasional note from someone pointing out my there/their/they're, affect/effect or its/it's/its' error. I politely apologize for the error and move on. I'll then go write something, sometimes well and sometimes with errors.

Beer Friday

...end of post.

Out.

Day of Silence

Tomorrow is the 15th annual Day of Silence. Sponsored by the Gay, Lesbian and Straight Education Network, it began in 1996 by one University of Virginia student and has grown to a national event since.

"Gay Day of Silence a Waste of Tax Dollars, Critics Say"

You can read the article at the link above, or I'll summarize my take on the situation below.

It's an anti-bully event with the purpose of raising awareness about the vicious verbal and physical attacks that many gay and lesbian students experience. Class time is excluded from the silent part of the 'Day of Silence', so no change would occur during instructional time.

Some conservative groups are encouraging parents to keep their children out of school that day as a counter-event.

So let me get this right, those parents that oppose an anti-bullying event in which participants don't speak are concerned? It's an odd response to a passive campaign that in no way changes what occurs inside the classroom. If they do remove their children from school for the day their child will miss out on a day of instruction and the schools will not get the funds provided to them based on the number of student days of attendance. Are they concerned that their child will be forced to not talk with someone who is also not talking?

Bobby said, "______________"

" _____________", responded Jane.

And the crickets chirped.

What am I missing in their logic?

Overheard this Week

Words fascinates me. I'm always listening to how people use speech in new, interesting, and often incorrect ways. When I catch myself making errors it's not as much fun. Just me being hypocritically honest.

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Repeat offenders get bumped to the front of the list. I've heard this one used on at least three separate occasions.

"I give good advices."

No it's not a typo.

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A young single friend was describing his latest girlfriend to me. Not that I was really interested. I was just being polite as I pretended to listen to him. It's the socially correct sort of thing to do when your not as excited about a subject as buddy, but you don't want to be a jerk and just tell them your don't really give a damn.

"She half German, half Italian and half Chinese!"

I slowly turned away from him snickering.

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I learned a new word listening to NPR this week. That happens a lot when I listen to NPR--learning a new word that is. 'Glocal' is created by combining global and local.

Learning this new word left me with a tingling feeling all over. It was a rather exciting moment. Then the light turned green and I pulled away from the stoplight. But a few miles down the road, as my mind was still trying to index and sort this new work I came to a conclusion. Global is all encompassing, while local is specific. So 'glocal' describes what exactly? I'm still not sure.

Is this how new words are created? Shesh, what a messy and random process.

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More clever stuff should have been entered here, but I lost interest in writing any more today.

iPad Pad

Did you get your iPad yet? No, I haven't made the splurge yet. That product gap between laptop and phone can remain unfulfilled in my life. I'd rather keep my cash in the bank earning interest--all twelve dollars and sixty-five cents worth.

I think Apple has once again done a great job of creating product buzz to the point of near hysteria. Go get 'em you early adopters. They have left room for a competing product that I will call an 'iPad Pad' for lack of a better name.

Imagine a device thinner and lighter than an iPad with similar capabilities but much less expensive. There has to be a market for such a thing. This iPad Pad would use a multi-layered flexible media onto which images, text and other forms of communication could be displayed. A liquid of contrasting color would be placed on the flexible media to display content. Various technology solutions to apply this secondary color/liquid to the base media have been developed.

Now all I need is a venture capitalist or angel investor to back my idea.

Associated Content

Never heard of Associated Content? Well pull up a chair. It's a site that allow authors to self-publish online content on virtually any subject. Do you want to write about your hub cab collection? Here is the venue.

I'm writing business related articles for the site. They're not as colorful as what you might see on this blog, but honestly now, how exciting can a discussion of economic order quantity be?

Associated Content articles written by Garrison Douglas:

Is Your Business Ready for Cycle Counting?

Here is what you need to get to the point where you can implement a successful program. Now if your not worried about success then just go ahead and start right now. Go. Really now. Go start counting. I dare you.

Create a Professional Certification Plan

The business world is tough right now. Get some letters to help separate you from the unemployed masses.

Rack Screws -- The Key to Cleanly Installed Equipment

Mounting 19" electronic rack equipment is just as exciting as you are imagining. Hardware, tools, security rack screws--I think it has the makings of a mini series.

5S Overview - Sort, Set in Order, Sweep, Standardize, Sustain

No, there were not enough articles and web pages on this subject, so I filled the gap.

This list will be periodically updated with newly published articles.

Yes, I know it's shameless self-promotion. Isn't that the point of a monetizing blog linked to a site like that? If you don't like that then head on down the cyber-road. Feel free to click on a link above as you exit...

Material Disclosure

In the beginning

In the beginning was the Blog, and the Blog was with Garrison, and the Blog was Garrison. Apologies to King James about the stupid play on words. It's one of the things that I'm about--stupid plays on words

Leave a comment, search the site, subscribe, click on a link or two and come back when you can. I'll post in a random pattern until I find a rhythm that works. If you like what you find here share it with a friend. If you don't like what you find here share it with a friend.

The blog backlog now sits at four incomplete posts with six more vague and incomplete ideas in queue right behind. If you have a subject that you think would be interesting, send me a message.

GD