March 02, 2007
I'm often amazed at my own stupidity. It's funny how I can attack a set of partial-differential equations with gusto, and still fail to use my brain in other places. I decided to work from the deck this evening, and wanted a fire in the chimnea. The sky is clear, and it was sunny all day, but the chimnea had been drenched over the last few days, so I knew starting a fire was going to be difficult. My first two attempts with newspaper and kindling smoldered, so I decided to just get it over with and use an "accelerant." Yes, I watch CSI. I had a little gasoline in one of my tanks, and squirted it on the wood. I did this multiple times in between working on the computer, and nothing took. This had a lot to do with my throwing junk mail into the chimnea, which had become saturated. I went in to the garage looking for lighter fluid. Didn't see any, but I saw some white gas on a shelf on the other side. That should have been an easy trip, but no. I have about eight months of recycling piled up in the garage. I stretched and tip-toed across to the fuel, and made it back without falling prey to any of the piles. I sprinkled and sprayed the gas over the wood and stepped back. I took a piece of newspaper and lit it. I approached the inferno to be, and put the flame to it. No luck. I moved closer and deeper into the chimnea. Still no luck. In frustration, I leaned down and shoved the flame into the depths of the chimnea. A volcano erupted. I fell back, but still smelled the stench of burnt hair. Yeah, my normally long eyelashes are a bit trimmed. Idiot. Then again, I've had a nice warm fire ever since...
Well, that goes along with my trip in Chicago. I haven't written about this, yet, so I thought I'd sing the praises of stupidity before I go to bed. My second presentation in the Chicago area was supposed to be about an hour away from the hotel. I got ready in what I thought was the right amount of time. Actually, I planned on even more time so that I wouldn't have to find the place in the dark. The engineer in me was very displeased with the toll arrangement of the interstates in Illinois. However, I had been collecting change in my pocket to deal with it. After I paid my first two tolls, I was cruising down a predominantly agricultural area. I had a brief thought that the tolls were over. Then I started to notice the exits. The typically indicated that one could exit, but not re-enter the interstate. This was part of the toll strategy. Twenty percent of the Illinois population must be involved in running a freakin' toll booth.
Along with this, though, came an interesting observation. In California the traffic fines are doubled in a construction area. The signs do not suggest that anyone might do anything really horrible in a construction zone. In Illinois? They pull no punches. The signs come right out and say what the concern is: if you hit a road worker you will be find $10k and go to jail for 14 years. Thank you! Now we know precisely what road workers in Illinois are worth. Fairly impressive, really. I think if someone whacked me on the road in California, they'd probably get probation and have to take a self-help class.
At any rate, I sped on down the road looking for my exit. $3.20 later, I saw my exit. I pulled on to the exit ramp of U.S. 20, just in time to see the road sign that said the business exit was a few miles down the road. Navigating by myself, I wasn't sure which road I was supposed to take. I pulled over and checked. You guessed it. I needed the business route. I couldn't get back on the interstate, so I drove on. Idiot. I drove, and I drove. I saw six exits for the town I needed, and none of them rang a bell for what I wanted. I turned around, and took the exit towards Main Street. I drove through the seedier side of Rockford, and came to the downtown area. Frankly, it was very attractive. I kept taking turns that I thought should be right, and then I saw it: Business 20! I cruised down the road watching the cross streets fly by. I stopped at a gas station to get some caffeine and asked how far it was to the road I needed. It was a mile ahead. In no time I was back on track.
The directions were fairly convulted. I finally got on a road that went for some distance, and noticed that I was passing many of the roads I had passed in trying to find my way back to where I was supposed to be. It was at this point that I decided that it would be worth the extra money to have a freakin' navigation system in the rental car.
I finally made it where I was supposed to be. It had taken an hour and forty-five minutes. Afterwards, I made it back to the hotel in an hour and ten.
Hmmmph...
Well, that goes along with my trip in Chicago. I haven't written about this, yet, so I thought I'd sing the praises of stupidity before I go to bed. My second presentation in the Chicago area was supposed to be about an hour away from the hotel. I got ready in what I thought was the right amount of time. Actually, I planned on even more time so that I wouldn't have to find the place in the dark. The engineer in me was very displeased with the toll arrangement of the interstates in Illinois. However, I had been collecting change in my pocket to deal with it. After I paid my first two tolls, I was cruising down a predominantly agricultural area. I had a brief thought that the tolls were over. Then I started to notice the exits. The typically indicated that one could exit, but not re-enter the interstate. This was part of the toll strategy. Twenty percent of the Illinois population must be involved in running a freakin' toll booth.
Along with this, though, came an interesting observation. In California the traffic fines are doubled in a construction area. The signs do not suggest that anyone might do anything really horrible in a construction zone. In Illinois? They pull no punches. The signs come right out and say what the concern is: if you hit a road worker you will be find $10k and go to jail for 14 years. Thank you! Now we know precisely what road workers in Illinois are worth. Fairly impressive, really. I think if someone whacked me on the road in California, they'd probably get probation and have to take a self-help class.
At any rate, I sped on down the road looking for my exit. $3.20 later, I saw my exit. I pulled on to the exit ramp of U.S. 20, just in time to see the road sign that said the business exit was a few miles down the road. Navigating by myself, I wasn't sure which road I was supposed to take. I pulled over and checked. You guessed it. I needed the business route. I couldn't get back on the interstate, so I drove on. Idiot. I drove, and I drove. I saw six exits for the town I needed, and none of them rang a bell for what I wanted. I turned around, and took the exit towards Main Street. I drove through the seedier side of Rockford, and came to the downtown area. Frankly, it was very attractive. I kept taking turns that I thought should be right, and then I saw it: Business 20! I cruised down the road watching the cross streets fly by. I stopped at a gas station to get some caffeine and asked how far it was to the road I needed. It was a mile ahead. In no time I was back on track.
The directions were fairly convulted. I finally got on a road that went for some distance, and noticed that I was passing many of the roads I had passed in trying to find my way back to where I was supposed to be. It was at this point that I decided that it would be worth the extra money to have a freakin' navigation system in the rental car.
I finally made it where I was supposed to be. It had taken an hour and forty-five minutes. Afterwards, I made it back to the hotel in an hour and ten.
Hmmmph...