I made a new signature for our email account. I thought it was cute, and I also thought it was a neat way for me to spread the word about our blog.
Shan takes issue with the fact that I call it "our" blog. I admit, I use it less for updates on what is happening in our family, and more for what arcane ramblings cross my mind when I'm all alone at night at the airport.
So I thought I would give an update.
Everything is still normal.
As I type this, we are well into the third trimester. Baby Eli is probably somewhere around two pounds or so, and well on his way to the outside world. He has shifted into more of a head-down position, and his movements are now able to be felt quite a bit.
We were concerned last week, because Shannon had been sick the week before, and started to have cramping and pain. We discovered Braxton-Hicks Syndrome. Well, okay, we didn't discover it. We learned about it. Apparently, Braxton-Hicks is fairly common, and basically amounts to "practice" contractions, all the muscles down there are preparing themselves for the real labor. It hurts a lot, keeping Shan up at night. Drinking lots of water eases the cramps somewhat, but with all the drinking, Shan is up all night back and forth to the bathroom.
She takes it mostly all in stride. She doesn't want to complain, or sound ungrateful for this-and I don't think she sounds like she's complaining at all-but it does hurt, and it does suck that she's up all night and so tired.
So she does what she can, and I try to pick up the slack. Mostly, I think I just slack though....
We have been saying for the past month that we just want to meet him. We want to introduce him to our family and friends, and we want to show him his new house, and his new room, and his toy room. Interesting trivia, his toy room is bigger than my bedroom was growing up! I would have killed for a toy room like that growing up!
We spent this past weekend organizing and cutting tags off. We have had two showers so far, and all that stuff had to go somewhere. I guess the pile in the middle of the living room wasn't good enough.
We have so much stuff, it's ridiculous! So many clothes, so much baby feeding tools, blankets, bibs, pipes, toys, books, already some food, diapers, a cradle, a crib, a rocking chair with footstool, a bouncer, a swing, a travel system with car seat...and we still have one more shower to go.
This is becoming real! As I write this, there is 78 days left on my little countdown, which is about two and a half months, I guess. It does not seem like that. It seems like we're still in the planning stages, as if we have most of the pregnancy to go yet. Like we're still talking about what we're going to name him, or what color we're going to paint the toy room.
The toy room is painted. His name is Elijah.
It's starting to sink in, in a deeper level for me at least, that I am going to be a daddy. My wife and I are going to be parents. I twitch a little bit inside when I hear that. In a month and a half I will be thirty years old, a milestone in itself. But I do not feel old enough, or mature enough to raise a child. And here it is, only about two months away!
I think sometimes that I was more ready when we first found out we were pregnant.
Then again, it seemed like such a long time to plan and get everything situated. We also had some concerns in the beginning, so that made us not want to think about the future in terms of "when the baby is here", or "after we have the baby". It was more just praying that we would have the strength to carry on just one more day. And then, day after day, finding that strength somewhere.
But now those prayers are answered. The strength that we needed to steel ourselves for bad news turned into the strength we need to raise up a human being in our likeness.
Yes, I used that phrase.
I want to be that serious about my role here. I want it to be clear that this is a God-given mandate, a God-given responsibility. This is my purpose in life. Shan and I have talked like that since before we were married, that when you have children, it's not about you anymore, it's about your kids.
So now it's real. And I am terrified. My friend Jeff says I'm going to be fine. Deep down, I know I will too.
But I'm still terrified.
wingnut
29 October 2007
23 October 2007
Not to be confused with...
I was bored last night.
Here I am, waiting for my last airplane to arrive, and I thought I would Google stuff. Not bad stuff, you naughty doggies, just random things that pop into my mind.
So I googled the term "wingnut". The first entry was from Urban Dictionary, which is a repository of slang terms and their definitions. You can vote up or down on each entry, and it displays them in ranked order from best to worst. Kinda neat, but don't enter just any word. Some of the stuff there is really gross.
Okay, most of the definitions are really gross.
Okay, don't even go to the site, just take my word for it. And I know because of someone at work.
Anyway, according to the top four definitions of "wingnut", the term means someone of ridiculously conservative political or religious views, usually outspoken, and always annoying. Apparently, it's a shortened form of the phrase "Right-wing nut job".
There was also a blog that was hit on my Google search that was talking about his estranged family's crazy views, and this person bemoaned the fact that he was from a "wingnut family".
Nowhere did anyone mention aviation. This saddens me.
I certainly do not want people to make assumptions about my political or religious views because of what my online moniker is.
Today at lunch, I told my wife these distressing findings. After about five minutes of hysterical laughter, she told me that I shouldn't care what people think about me.
She did, however, think it was strangely coincidental, since we were talking about that the other day. A few weeks ago, actually. She likes to point out the fact that she thinks I'm more Republican than I think I am. It's a source of endless debate, that usually ends in me insisting, to the point of raising my voice, that I am NOT like those politicians or those people on TV.
She just giggles and continues to insist that I am. At least more than I think.
Here I am, waiting for my last airplane to arrive, and I thought I would Google stuff. Not bad stuff, you naughty doggies, just random things that pop into my mind.
So I googled the term "wingnut". The first entry was from Urban Dictionary, which is a repository of slang terms and their definitions. You can vote up or down on each entry, and it displays them in ranked order from best to worst. Kinda neat, but don't enter just any word. Some of the stuff there is really gross.
Okay, most of the definitions are really gross.
Okay, don't even go to the site, just take my word for it. And I know because of someone at work.
Anyway, according to the top four definitions of "wingnut", the term means someone of ridiculously conservative political or religious views, usually outspoken, and always annoying. Apparently, it's a shortened form of the phrase "Right-wing nut job".
There was also a blog that was hit on my Google search that was talking about his estranged family's crazy views, and this person bemoaned the fact that he was from a "wingnut family".
Nowhere did anyone mention aviation. This saddens me.
I certainly do not want people to make assumptions about my political or religious views because of what my online moniker is.
Today at lunch, I told my wife these distressing findings. After about five minutes of hysterical laughter, she told me that I shouldn't care what people think about me.
She did, however, think it was strangely coincidental, since we were talking about that the other day. A few weeks ago, actually. She likes to point out the fact that she thinks I'm more Republican than I think I am. It's a source of endless debate, that usually ends in me insisting, to the point of raising my voice, that I am NOT like those politicians or those people on TV.
She just giggles and continues to insist that I am. At least more than I think.
I continue to insist that no-one in the government has my blind approval.
I admit, I used to think along those lines. I also admit that my views do trend towards the conservative side of the aisle.
But I don't really like anyone in Washington. My stance in both 2000 and 2004 was that I was reluctantly forced to choose the lesser of two evils. At the time, I tended to agree more with Bush than either of his opponents, and I guess I still do, but I am becoming increasingly more disillusioned with the administration, for a variety of reasons.
I really don't want to get into details, I hate keeping track of politics like that, never been very good at it anyway. Suffice it to say that the foreign policy is not as effective as it should be, nor as flexible as it needs to be. Domestic policy is not even there, really. No-one is working on fixing Social Security, and the immigrant debate is so polarized that it's paralyzing everyone. I don't mean to suggest that these are easy fixes, if that were the case, they wouldn't be problems anymore. But for crying out loud, do something, not just talk.
Don't even get me started on how everyone in the media is cramming the next election down our throats, and it's still over a freakin' year away!
It's no wonder that only about 30% of the population votes anymore. And if you deconstruct it a bit, we know that only the really outspoken people, the ones who are really passionate about their views are in that 30%. And usually, the more passionate you are about your ideas, the more radical you tend to be. I mean, who's ever heard of a passionate moderate?
Only 30% of the population votes because only 30% of the population can really get behind a candidate anymore. That leaves the rest of the nation to follow along, not really liking any of their choices enough to be passionate about them.
I have a hunch. It's a long shot, and a long way away, but I think this is the beginning of decentralizing government in the US. If things in Washington continue the current trend, state legislatures will begin to assert more control, simply because federally, the government is increasingly out of touch with reality. A better way to say it is probably that the diversity of opinion in the United States no longer lends itself well to centralized control. Or maybe the diversity of opinion in Washington DC (or at least the major parties) does not anymore mirror the opinion of the vast majority of citizens.
I'm not a very good "Wingnut", am I?
wingnut
15 October 2007
A Flippin' Sweet story from back in the day
So....I have been reading Thomas Cahill's Desire of the Everlasting Hills, and I came across this gem of a story. As a matter of fact, many of us are slightly familiar with part of the story, since it is given to us partially in the New Testament book of Philemon. Those of the Eastern Orthodox persuasion will no doubt be more familiar with this story than us Westerners, or for that matter, we of the Protestant traditions.
The Apostle Paul, after his spectacular conversion experience (recounted in Acts, ch 9), then travelled extensively throughout the southwestern portions of the Roman Empire, starting churches and making many believers out of his listeners. Along the way, he and his followers wrote many letters to those churches, giving out teaching and instructions, spreading love and the Good News to all. It is commonly believed that the Apostle Paul, through his letters to his churches, is responsible for up to 60% of our New Testament. Quite the writer, indeed!
One of his letters, however, stands out among the others. Not for it's length-it's one of the shortest books in the Bible-not for its spectacular theological musings, but for it's intended audience.
Most of Paul's letters were written to specific churches, intended to be read out loud when the church gathered, that the whole community might benefit from the letter. But Paul's letter to Philemon is different.
Philemon is a specific person. He lived in Colossae, and was a man of some importance, both in the church community in Colossae, and also in society. Exactly what he did, or how powerful he was, is not really known. But from Paul's letter, it is evident that Philemon and his household were very important to the church in Colossae.
Philemon, as was the custom for affluent Romans, owned slaves. Paul is writing to Philemon on behalf of one of Philemon's slaves, Onesimus.
Now, a word about men of Philemon's status. They had, quite literally, the power of life and death over their household. Their word was the law, and you could not go against it. The laws regarding slaves were extremely drastic. Slaves could not vote, did not have property rights, or even personal rights. Slaves were property.
If a slave stole from his master, his hand was cut off. If the slave ran away and was captured back, he was usually executed.
Now, it just so happens that Paul, who is in prison (probably in Ephesus, but no one knows for sure), has come across Onesimus, a slave of Philemon's household. The details of what happened are not presented, but somehow or other, Onesimus is with Paul, and has heard Paul's message, and has become a Christian. He has been helping Paul with his ministry.
Enter the dilemma: Paul knows Philemon. Paul knows Onesimus. Paul knows the right thing to do. Onesimus probably knows the right thing to do as well, but obviously does not want to do it, considering the right thing for him to do will result directly in the end of his life.
Paul knows that he cannot tell Philemon how to run his home. That would be (still is) the most insulting thing that Paul could do. So Paul appeals to the love of Christ, approaching Philemon not as one man ordering another, but as two equals in Christ, both of whom know of Christian love, fellowship, and compassion.
It is amazing to read Pauls words, deferring to the power that Philemon has over his household, yet overpowering him with the love of Christ.
Philemon still had every right to punish Onesimus under the law. Onesimus was a runaway slave, and could be killed for it. But Onesimus returned as a Christian, a fellow brother in the community, and within the community, an equal in Christ. So, while Philemon did still have the right to execute his runaway slave, he also had the obligation to love him as a brother in Christ.
No doubt Philemon knew exactly what he must do.
Fast forward a few decades.
It is the beginning of the second century. The church that Paul started while in prison in Ephesus is growing. Many more people are joining, and wonderful things are happening in the community, and also in the local area. Ephesus was becoming the most important city for Christians in Asia Minor.
The church, as churches do when the grow, decide that they need a leader. They elect a man who has been in the community for a long while. This man takes it upon himself to collect Paul's writings, to save them for future generations. This collection is the first of it's kind, and was fairly important when, centuries later, people began to decide what books were in the Bible.
This leader, this upstanding man in the Christian community, this first Bishop of Byzantium, this collector of Paul's writings, started out as a runaway slave.
Destined to die an early death simply from his place in life, Onesimus was freed from slavery, and became an early bedrock of the church in Ephesus and the whole Byzantine area, collecting Paul's letters, and teaching new believers.
And now you know.....the rest of the story.
wingnut
The Apostle Paul, after his spectacular conversion experience (recounted in Acts, ch 9), then travelled extensively throughout the southwestern portions of the Roman Empire, starting churches and making many believers out of his listeners. Along the way, he and his followers wrote many letters to those churches, giving out teaching and instructions, spreading love and the Good News to all. It is commonly believed that the Apostle Paul, through his letters to his churches, is responsible for up to 60% of our New Testament. Quite the writer, indeed!
One of his letters, however, stands out among the others. Not for it's length-it's one of the shortest books in the Bible-not for its spectacular theological musings, but for it's intended audience.
Most of Paul's letters were written to specific churches, intended to be read out loud when the church gathered, that the whole community might benefit from the letter. But Paul's letter to Philemon is different.
Philemon is a specific person. He lived in Colossae, and was a man of some importance, both in the church community in Colossae, and also in society. Exactly what he did, or how powerful he was, is not really known. But from Paul's letter, it is evident that Philemon and his household were very important to the church in Colossae.
Philemon, as was the custom for affluent Romans, owned slaves. Paul is writing to Philemon on behalf of one of Philemon's slaves, Onesimus.
Now, a word about men of Philemon's status. They had, quite literally, the power of life and death over their household. Their word was the law, and you could not go against it. The laws regarding slaves were extremely drastic. Slaves could not vote, did not have property rights, or even personal rights. Slaves were property.
If a slave stole from his master, his hand was cut off. If the slave ran away and was captured back, he was usually executed.
Now, it just so happens that Paul, who is in prison (probably in Ephesus, but no one knows for sure), has come across Onesimus, a slave of Philemon's household. The details of what happened are not presented, but somehow or other, Onesimus is with Paul, and has heard Paul's message, and has become a Christian. He has been helping Paul with his ministry.
Enter the dilemma: Paul knows Philemon. Paul knows Onesimus. Paul knows the right thing to do. Onesimus probably knows the right thing to do as well, but obviously does not want to do it, considering the right thing for him to do will result directly in the end of his life.
Paul knows that he cannot tell Philemon how to run his home. That would be (still is) the most insulting thing that Paul could do. So Paul appeals to the love of Christ, approaching Philemon not as one man ordering another, but as two equals in Christ, both of whom know of Christian love, fellowship, and compassion.
It is amazing to read Pauls words, deferring to the power that Philemon has over his household, yet overpowering him with the love of Christ.
Philemon still had every right to punish Onesimus under the law. Onesimus was a runaway slave, and could be killed for it. But Onesimus returned as a Christian, a fellow brother in the community, and within the community, an equal in Christ. So, while Philemon did still have the right to execute his runaway slave, he also had the obligation to love him as a brother in Christ.
No doubt Philemon knew exactly what he must do.
Fast forward a few decades.
It is the beginning of the second century. The church that Paul started while in prison in Ephesus is growing. Many more people are joining, and wonderful things are happening in the community, and also in the local area. Ephesus was becoming the most important city for Christians in Asia Minor.
The church, as churches do when the grow, decide that they need a leader. They elect a man who has been in the community for a long while. This man takes it upon himself to collect Paul's writings, to save them for future generations. This collection is the first of it's kind, and was fairly important when, centuries later, people began to decide what books were in the Bible.
This leader, this upstanding man in the Christian community, this first Bishop of Byzantium, this collector of Paul's writings, started out as a runaway slave.
Destined to die an early death simply from his place in life, Onesimus was freed from slavery, and became an early bedrock of the church in Ephesus and the whole Byzantine area, collecting Paul's letters, and teaching new believers.
And now you know.....the rest of the story.
wingnut
11 October 2007
All of a sudden, it's fall
It's cold outside. I mean, all of a sudden, fall showed up. I know it was quick, I was outside when it happened. It was Tuesday night, around 2000 (that's 8:00 for all you 12 hour people).
It was honestly just your typical Michigan cold front. Pretty warm all day Tuesday, but then the wind began to pick up, and at the airport, where every television screen and computer monitor seems to have a weather loop on it for some odd reason, we were watching the line of yellow and orange and green move across eastern Wisconsin.
We knew what was coming. It happens the same way every time. We watch the weather in Wisconsin.
Then we get the frantic calls from the airlines, telling us that their planes are coming here instead of Chicago or Milwaukee.
Then the planes actually get to GRR. About that same time is when the clouds begin wafting in over the lake. First the innocent wispy cirrus clouds that nobody thinks much of.
But there is always that subtle change in the wind. The wind picks up, ever so slightly, and at the same time, the setting sun, after filling the sky with brilliant fiery color, finally is obscured by the more threatening cumulus.
About the same time the crew that fuels the airlines are calling for the backup trucks, and the diverted aircraft are thirstily gulping the sweet petroleum concoction we've delivered to them, the wind picks up, definitively this time, so that everyone notices.
We knew already, so we've been prepared. But those who do not have to watch the weather like us are now wondering if they should break out their umbrellas. We're already in our rain gear, and the people that had derided us, we prophets of weather, are now beginning to heed our message.
It happens quickly from then on. The wind picks up even more, so that I hear in my hangar the ventilation fan clattering against it's housing on the roof. If I hadn't known, I would think my hangar walls were coming down for all the noise.
Five minutes later, the sky is greyed out by rain. Sometimes so bad I can't see across my ramp to the runway.
Usually fifteen minutes after that, it's over. We then get to come out and watch the line move further east, sometimes getting quite a light show from the embedded thunderstorms. We shed our rain gear as quickly as possible, because in all reality, we sweat so bad in it no matter what the temperature is that some of us don't even bother wearing it.
But this time, Tuesday, 2000(GMT-4), it was different: Obviously, with a cold front, you expect a drop in temperature.
But not one of twenty degrees. And not one that does not warm back up.
So fall has finally arrived in West Michigan. And now that the weather is cooling off, I am turning my mind towards spring. The next few months will be a battle of wills, as Generals Snow and Ice will combine their forces in an attempt to force me to wear regular shoes.
wingnut
It was honestly just your typical Michigan cold front. Pretty warm all day Tuesday, but then the wind began to pick up, and at the airport, where every television screen and computer monitor seems to have a weather loop on it for some odd reason, we were watching the line of yellow and orange and green move across eastern Wisconsin.
We knew what was coming. It happens the same way every time. We watch the weather in Wisconsin.
Then we get the frantic calls from the airlines, telling us that their planes are coming here instead of Chicago or Milwaukee.
Then the planes actually get to GRR. About that same time is when the clouds begin wafting in over the lake. First the innocent wispy cirrus clouds that nobody thinks much of.
But there is always that subtle change in the wind. The wind picks up, ever so slightly, and at the same time, the setting sun, after filling the sky with brilliant fiery color, finally is obscured by the more threatening cumulus.
About the same time the crew that fuels the airlines are calling for the backup trucks, and the diverted aircraft are thirstily gulping the sweet petroleum concoction we've delivered to them, the wind picks up, definitively this time, so that everyone notices.
We knew already, so we've been prepared. But those who do not have to watch the weather like us are now wondering if they should break out their umbrellas. We're already in our rain gear, and the people that had derided us, we prophets of weather, are now beginning to heed our message.
It happens quickly from then on. The wind picks up even more, so that I hear in my hangar the ventilation fan clattering against it's housing on the roof. If I hadn't known, I would think my hangar walls were coming down for all the noise.
Five minutes later, the sky is greyed out by rain. Sometimes so bad I can't see across my ramp to the runway.
Usually fifteen minutes after that, it's over. We then get to come out and watch the line move further east, sometimes getting quite a light show from the embedded thunderstorms. We shed our rain gear as quickly as possible, because in all reality, we sweat so bad in it no matter what the temperature is that some of us don't even bother wearing it.
But this time, Tuesday, 2000(GMT-4), it was different: Obviously, with a cold front, you expect a drop in temperature.
But not one of twenty degrees. And not one that does not warm back up.
So fall has finally arrived in West Michigan. And now that the weather is cooling off, I am turning my mind towards spring. The next few months will be a battle of wills, as Generals Snow and Ice will combine their forces in an attempt to force me to wear regular shoes.
wingnut
09 October 2007
The Hunt for....The Hunt.
Today I went to Barnes and Noble, as I sometimes do, and was browsing their used book section.
Usually, I'm a bit picky about the condition of my books. I want to be the one to mark them up, or dog ear the pages, or mash the corners. I want to be the first one to crack them open, to smell that strange new book smell, the first one to use the dust jacket as the bookmark. I want to be the one to bend the spine, highlight interesting passages, and write my own notes in the margins.
Recently, however, I have taken to reading my books with a small notebook with me. I can then write all my little notes in the notebook, therefore preserving the integrity of my library for future generations. My future generations. I will not get rid of my books. Most of them. Actually, my wife is good about making me get rid of stuff I don't use, and probably won't ever use. So yeah, I guess I do get rid of some of my books.
Anyway, I don't write in the margins as much as I used to.
I also have neither the time or the finances to pay publisher's list price for each and every book I want. I have a list, four legal pages long, with titles of books that I might like to read someday. I have some of them, but it seems that for every one on my list I find, I discover two, three, four more books that I wouldn't mind reading. It really is a vicious cycle.
So, I have been spending more and more time in the used book section. That, and Bargain Books, right down the road from B&N.
I have, for the past while, been attempting to collect hardcover versions of Tom Clancy's fiction. Tom has written twelve novels within the same storyline, following the adventures of Jack Ryan, CIA, and his friends and family. Though I must say that his later works stretch the series beyond what could be considered realism, they are still compelling to read, and full of action. And guns. And lots and lots of special operations personnel.
His first novel, The Hunt for Red October, was published by the Naval Academy Press. It remains the only fiction that they have published, and it also remains the biggest seller they have ever had. Not surprising if you consider that not many people would enjoy reading the full technical specifications of, say, AEGIS-class destroyers, or perhaps the operations manual for the sonar technicians aboard Los Angeles class submarines. Not that we could anyway, since I would have to guess that the majority of works published by the Academy Press are probably classified to some extent or other.
My collection of hardcovers is growing, but I still have some that I need to find. I was talking to my wife the other day, and mentioned that I probably would have to resort to ebay, or some other online shop to find the more rare examples. The ones that I had been finding are obviously the more common ones, the newer ones that are still in some dusty corner of the back room, or the ones that everyone has anyway.
I told my wife about the Hunt, telling her that that was one of them I would probably have to find online somewhere.
She was online at work, and she found some places that had Hunt, in fairly decent shape. I also found it, on ebay and on amazon. For ten to fifteen dollars, plus shipping. Not bad, I'll keep it in mind when I feel like getting it.
So today. I had some time to kill before work, so I wandered over to B&N. They had, where their Clancy stuff usually is, six first edition hard cover Tom Clancy books.
And guess what the first one was?
Yes indeed, ladies and gentlemen, The Hunt for Red October. Fairly decent shape. Some damage and discoloration of the dust jacket, but nothing wrong with the book itself. It actually looks nearly unread. Perhaps once or twice. All in all, it does not at all look like a twenty-three year old book.
And the price, for this 8 out of 10, nearly antique piece of literary history?
Five freakin' dollars.
Five hundred measley copper pennies.
40% of the complete collection of state quarters.
Less than a half hour of work.
Awesome!
wingnut
Usually, I'm a bit picky about the condition of my books. I want to be the one to mark them up, or dog ear the pages, or mash the corners. I want to be the first one to crack them open, to smell that strange new book smell, the first one to use the dust jacket as the bookmark. I want to be the one to bend the spine, highlight interesting passages, and write my own notes in the margins.
Recently, however, I have taken to reading my books with a small notebook with me. I can then write all my little notes in the notebook, therefore preserving the integrity of my library for future generations. My future generations. I will not get rid of my books. Most of them. Actually, my wife is good about making me get rid of stuff I don't use, and probably won't ever use. So yeah, I guess I do get rid of some of my books.
Anyway, I don't write in the margins as much as I used to.
I also have neither the time or the finances to pay publisher's list price for each and every book I want. I have a list, four legal pages long, with titles of books that I might like to read someday. I have some of them, but it seems that for every one on my list I find, I discover two, three, four more books that I wouldn't mind reading. It really is a vicious cycle.
So, I have been spending more and more time in the used book section. That, and Bargain Books, right down the road from B&N.
I have, for the past while, been attempting to collect hardcover versions of Tom Clancy's fiction. Tom has written twelve novels within the same storyline, following the adventures of Jack Ryan, CIA, and his friends and family. Though I must say that his later works stretch the series beyond what could be considered realism, they are still compelling to read, and full of action. And guns. And lots and lots of special operations personnel.
His first novel, The Hunt for Red October, was published by the Naval Academy Press. It remains the only fiction that they have published, and it also remains the biggest seller they have ever had. Not surprising if you consider that not many people would enjoy reading the full technical specifications of, say, AEGIS-class destroyers, or perhaps the operations manual for the sonar technicians aboard Los Angeles class submarines. Not that we could anyway, since I would have to guess that the majority of works published by the Academy Press are probably classified to some extent or other.
My collection of hardcovers is growing, but I still have some that I need to find. I was talking to my wife the other day, and mentioned that I probably would have to resort to ebay, or some other online shop to find the more rare examples. The ones that I had been finding are obviously the more common ones, the newer ones that are still in some dusty corner of the back room, or the ones that everyone has anyway.
I told my wife about the Hunt, telling her that that was one of them I would probably have to find online somewhere.
She was online at work, and she found some places that had Hunt, in fairly decent shape. I also found it, on ebay and on amazon. For ten to fifteen dollars, plus shipping. Not bad, I'll keep it in mind when I feel like getting it.
So today. I had some time to kill before work, so I wandered over to B&N. They had, where their Clancy stuff usually is, six first edition hard cover Tom Clancy books.
And guess what the first one was?
Yes indeed, ladies and gentlemen, The Hunt for Red October. Fairly decent shape. Some damage and discoloration of the dust jacket, but nothing wrong with the book itself. It actually looks nearly unread. Perhaps once or twice. All in all, it does not at all look like a twenty-three year old book.
And the price, for this 8 out of 10, nearly antique piece of literary history?
Five freakin' dollars.
Five hundred measley copper pennies.
40% of the complete collection of state quarters.
Less than a half hour of work.
Awesome!
wingnut
05 October 2007
Well, I gone and dun it
As if xanga and myspace were not enough, I have now three blogs to call my own. I don't know why I keep doing this, other than the fact that blogger.com isn't blocked at work, and the other two are....sneaky, I know. Maybe I'm addicted. Maybe this is my deep desire to be heard and respected. Maybe I was up early and to bed late yesterday, and I'm a bit loopy today.
So, I guess this will be the same as the others. I really see no need to say different things on all three. Cut and paste, you are my friend!
Expect these pages to be filled with my theological musings, based on my experiences with our Creator. Also expect some airplane stuff. Maybe some paintball from time to time.
And of course, the biggest thing I have going on in my life, my family. Specifically, the new addition to the family. My wife and I are expecting in January, our first child. If you ever want to hear a miracle story, let me know. Heck, I'll probably post it anyway. Watch for it. It's long. Four years long. And absolutely woven into the very fabric of our lives. It strained our marriage almost to the breaking point, brought us closer than we have ever been, and brought us back from the brink of apathy to an increasingly close community at our church.
Anyway, that's me.
wingnut
So, I guess this will be the same as the others. I really see no need to say different things on all three. Cut and paste, you are my friend!
Expect these pages to be filled with my theological musings, based on my experiences with our Creator. Also expect some airplane stuff. Maybe some paintball from time to time.
And of course, the biggest thing I have going on in my life, my family. Specifically, the new addition to the family. My wife and I are expecting in January, our first child. If you ever want to hear a miracle story, let me know. Heck, I'll probably post it anyway. Watch for it. It's long. Four years long. And absolutely woven into the very fabric of our lives. It strained our marriage almost to the breaking point, brought us closer than we have ever been, and brought us back from the brink of apathy to an increasingly close community at our church.
Anyway, that's me.
wingnut
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