The Famous Toyota Crayolla Reaches A Hysterical Milestone

I bought the Toyota Crayola new in May of 1987, and my daddy told me at the time, "Just because you have a car doesn't mean you have to drive the wheels off it." I took his advice to heart. When I got it, I lived less than 2 miles from where I was working and neither of the places I worked after that was further than 3 miles from my house. Six years after I bought it, I started working from home, where I have worked for the past 16 years now, mostly evening and night shift. I've only had it on the highway once -- a trip to Phoenix, AZ and back. I am not what one would call a gad-about.

Earlier this month, while driving myself to my twice weekly physical therapy sessions for my shoulder, it became apparent that all was not well, and that I was going to be getting a new muffler for Christmas whether I wanted one or not. When I accelerated, what I heard was not the robust raspberry of its mighty engine. It was more like all 27 of its ponies were full of the wrong kind of gas, and were energetically leaving it behind. A cursory inspection of its undercarriage revealed why. The muffler was shot. In fact, judging from the entry wounds, Father Time had emptied about half a clip into it. However, owing to budgetary constraints, it would be almost three weeks before funds could be allocated to replace it. I was still in rehab for my shoulder and twice a week, when I headed up the access ramp to get on the Loop to go to therapy, it was like leading the pack at a motocross race. I drove in fear of being reined in by the local constabulary and being issued a citation for rude and obnoxious noises with a motor vehicle and impersonating a herd of bumble bees.

So, it was not until on December 19, 2008, that I made my way to the local Midas Muffler establishment and informed the muffler guy that I needed a new muffler. When I was told patronizingly but courteously, "If you'll give us the keys, we'll put it on the lift and take a look.", I motioned him into a crouch and with equal courtesy pointed out the several large holes that corrosion had eaten into the muffler's outer casing. We fast-forwarded ahead several paragraphs in the script and went right into the "Midas Muffler with the Lifetime Warranty for only $129 parts and $50 labor" pitch, at which point I called his attention to the illogic of forking over that kind of dough to put a top-of-the-line muffler with a lifetime guarantee on a 21 year old car. Finally, we agreed that their "exhaust guy" would put it up on the lift, find out what size it took, rummage about in the bargin bin and see what he could come up with that would fit it.

I mentioned the date above because, while I was ensconcing myself in their cheerefully decorated waiting room, the muffler guy was out in the mechanic's bay noting down the Crayola's vital statistics on his little form, and upon his return, much ado was made of the fact that it only had 39,997.4 miles on it. The oil change guy even went so far as to do the math and announced to all and sundry that it worked out to only 1500 miles a year.

So, about 30 minutes later + one new muffler, and -$121.49, I'm doing what my mother refers to as "going on about your rat killing," which is to say beetling off to the next stop on my list of errands, and while traveling down 50th street toward the high school I attended entirely too long ago, the hysterical milestone occurred, and my odometer rolled over to 40,000 miles. I might add that I had last filled the car with gas on October 2, 2008, and there was still over half a tank left.

Oh, Good Grief!

The thing that I remember best about all those "Peanuts" cartoon specials on TV was the wonderful music. That, boys and girls, was a kind of music called "jazz!" Specifically, jazz as she is spoke by Vince Guaraldi, the composer, arranger and keyboardist on all those wonderful tunes. The sound track from the first special was available as a 33-1/3 record shortly after the first one aired in 1964, but I was still in junior high, in deepest, darkest Texas at the time and in those days, we were so unhip it was a wonder we could keep our pistol pockets up. Later on, after I had fledged and flown the coop, I did manage to score a cassette tape from one of the later specials that also had Dave Brubeck (and scions) involved and, as everyone knows, two hips are much better than one.

I was eventually able to score a couple of re-re-issue CDs from Ralph, who has made a long and illustrious career out of slipping "the Devil's music" du jour past the bastions of organized Protestant religion that pimple the plains hereabouts. If parents hate it, Ralph's got it. But what Ralph's is best known for is his encyclopedic knowledge of artists and repertoire. Even if nobody else in town has heard of it, Ralph will know album and artist, and if he doesn't already have it, he'll know where to get it. I do not exaggerate when I say, "If you can hum it, he can find it." I couldn't tell you Ralph's last name. Like Cher, he doesn't need one. The standard answer to "Do you know where I might be able to find x music?" is "Try Ralph's." His original first store was called "Ralph's Records," which should tell you how long he's been at it. (He relocated that store to a larger location in a defunct pizza restaurant about 4 blocks away, but still across the street from the Tech Campus.), With the advent of tape, he added "and Tapes" but after that he gave up trying to keep his signage in step with the evolution of the media, and by now it's pretty much a moot point anyway. His second store is located on 82nd and Indiana. The building is painted Pepto Bismol pink and black. You can't miss it.

While he does sell current stuff, Ralph's middle age has slowly but surely spread into "vintage." You can still buy records in his store, as well as cassettes and CDs. It's probably just as well that he's shifted his focus. Earlier this evening, I signed on to the Rhapsody music service I subscribe to and searched their "artist" data base for "Vince Guaraldi." Within about 20 seconds, it had coughed up over 18 titles (including his "Peanuts" soundtracks), plus about 10 more compilations that had at least one cut by him. Inside of about 20 minutes, I had assembled myself a playlist (8-1/2 hours' worth, no less) from his catalog, arranged in chronological order oldest to most recent -- I like to hear how a musician's style evolves over time. If I should decide that any of his albums fall into the "must be able to put my little hot hand on the CD at a moment's notice" category, I will be suprised if I cannot acquire a used copy on line through Amazon.com without even leaving the house, and at a price, including shipping, that is lower than a new CD would cost -- if new copies are still available. Guaraldi's oldest album was initially released in 1956, back when they were called "record albums" and cost more if they were in Stereo. It antedated the first "Peanuts" animated cartoon by a good 8 years and was also, judging from the cover photo, pre handlebar.

I have been enjoying his music for about 6 hours now, and what prompted this blog post was the realization of how inadvertently true his "Peanuts" music is to the essence of "Peanuts." The track that appears on every one of his "Peanuts" albums -- in fact, the song that has come to be most identified with "Peanuts" -- is not, as one would think, the "Charlie Brown theme, " but the one that goes: da-da-DUMP da-da-DUMP DAAAH-duuumm da-da-dump-DAAAH -- "Linus and Lucy."

Poor Charlie Brown. Upstaged again. Oh, Good Grief!

The Poop Box Modification Revisited.

In my March 3, 2008 post, I detailed how I modified my Littermaid so that, even though I have 4 of the little poopers, I only have to change the container once a week. I have since perfected the modification. Now, instead of a stackable drawer, I'm using one of those heavy plastic storage boxes with lids that latch. I have cut a hole into the lid to allow the bag to hang down into the storage box where there's plenty of room for "contents" to collect in it.
I'm also using standard kitchen drawstring bags (20-gal size) instead of the wimpy little wastebasket liners I was using. They hold more, and are much more sturdy. Now to change the bag, I remove the paper clips that hold it to the side of the container, pull the top of the bag loose, pull the drawstring, then push it down into the storage box. I can then set the Littermaid aside, open the lid and remove the trash bag without worrying about it tearing. Then I simply install a new bag, and put the Littermaid back on top of the storage box. The whole process takes about 10 minutes, including carting the bag out to the alley.

And, a not-entirely-off-topic "DUH!" moment: There is a sink+cabinet unit in the utility room (you can see it to the left of the Littermaid in the top pix). The Littermaid has been in its present location beside this cabinet since I moved into my current digs on September 23, 2001. (Yes, that September.) I buy kitty litter in 40 lb boxes, which I keep in this cabinet. About a week or so before my shoulder surgery on October 8, 2008, it occurred to me that I could take the hinges off the cabinet door closest to the Littermaid and move them from the right side of the door to the left side so that it would open to the left instead of to the right, and I could refill the Littermaid with more litter without having that stupid cabinet door in the way. So the day before my surgery, I did. Seven years I scoop litter out of the box in the cabinet to fill the Littermaid with that stupid cabinet door in the way before it finally occurs to me to move the hinges. Took me about 20 minutes to do the deed. Double "DUH!"

"Old Snort & Stomp," The One and Only Original Home Baked Amaretto

Not only are you going to get "The Recipe" -- you're going to get the emotional baggage that goes with it.

Gary Rouse gave me The Recipe. We worked together at Texas Instruments. At the time I knew him, Gary was married and had two young boys. I expect he now has grandchildren older than his boys were then. I hope he does, anyway. I've lost touch with them over the years. We were birds of a feather: pragmatic hippies in sheep's clothing with a fairly high BS tolerance who could play the corporate games well enough to make a halfway decent living at it and were willing to make the necessary trade-offs. As Corporate Team Player Man, he could support his wife and family in the customary manner, and still be happy enough. He used to make his own beer -- and was very good at it, too, as I recall. He also gave me a recipe for Kahlua. He was a fun person to be around and he did a lot to make my later years at TI bearable.

I started working at TI in 1980. The previous year, my marriage had crashed and burned shortly after takeoff, and I had moved back home from WVA. Literally, back home. Back to my old bedroom in my parents' house. That lasted all of two months. It was nothing personal. I was just too used to living unencumbered and unsupervised to go back to living with the pair of parental elephants in the living room. Thomas Wolfe nailed it when he said, "You can't go home again." In the eight or so years since I'd moved out for the first time, I'd gotten too used to living in my own space, on my own time, in my own way. The corners I'd always had, had gotten larger, stronger, tougher, to the point that I could no longer fold them over flat enough to squeeze into that nice little round hole in the front bedroom of my parents' house any more (It had always been a pretty tight fit, anyway). I already had a car and now that I had a job, I moved back out again that February (fourth time was charmed) into an apartment off the south loop. That next December was when I acquired Phred, my pet tree. The following March I moved to the apartment on 21st street because it had two bedrooms instead of one,was half a city closer to TI, and there were no upstairs neighbors. And it was while I was living there that I acquired The Recipe. Over the years, I've modified it, renamed it, made it my own.

So, here it is: The Recipe

Yield: Approximately 5 to 6 fifths.

Ingredients:
6 cups water
4 cups brown sugar
16 oz pure vanilla extract (not imitation!)
16 oz pure almond extract (not imitation!)
stick cinnamon
whole cloves
whole allspice
nutmeg (if you are willing, buy whole and grate it yourself; if not buy ground)
1 fifth peach brandy
1 fifth apricot brandy
1/2 gallon vodka.

Preparation: (the way I make it)
In a large pot that will hold 5 quarts of liquid, mix water and sugar and put on the stove on medium heat. Use a rolling pin to crunch the three sticks of cinnamon into small pieces. Add cinnamon, 1 tbsp of whole cloves, 1/2 tbsp of allspice and 2 tsp of nutmeg. Bring to a rolling boil and reduce heat slightly to a low boil, stirring frequently, for approximately 30-45 minutes. Remove from heat and cool to room temperature. Add the extracts and the booze. Stir well. Pour into bottles by dipping out with a measuring cup and pouring through a funnel.

Notes:
1. Use the cheapest booze you can get, especially the vodka, but don't skimp on the other ingredients, especially the extracts and spices.
2. I like the spices loose and I like to leave them in when I bottle it. That way, the flavor continues to "mature" the longer you keep it. The spice bits settle to the bottom eventually and if you pour carefully, they won't go into the glass. If you're picky, you can strain them out by pouring the liquid through a fine strainer or a cotton cup towel (the kind you dry glasses and crystal with).
3. There's enough alcohol in this stuff that, if properly bottled, it will keep for years, literally. The longest I've ever kept any is 6 years. Personally, I think it improves with age.
4. Play around with the recipe. If it's too sweet for you, use less sugar. Use 24 oz of almond extract and 8 oz of vanilla, or don't use any vanilla at all. Experiment. Try different combinations of fruit brandies (plum and apricot, peach and cherry, etc) or use three brandies and a fifth of vodka or four brandies and no vodka. Use more or less spices and vary the proportions. Try adding some Grand Marnier or Cointreau. You're making it; make it how you like it.
5. No matter how carefully you follow the recipe, every batch will be different. Deal with it.


Warning:
This stuff is "hard liquor," right up there with vodka, slivovitz and schnapps, and it will eat your sack lunch if you're not careful. So go easy with it. It's sweet enough to give you one hell of a hangover. If this is too "alcoholic" for you, leave out the vodka, not the brandies. The brandies add flavor. All the vodka adds is kick.

Bottles:
Save up your empty liquor bottles, wash off the labels and "recycle" them. Wine bottles won't work unless you have one of those little corking machines and can put a new cork in. Those with screw on lids will work well enough, but my preference is Harvey's Bristol Cream and cream sherry bottles. Their bottles have a lid with a cork on it, and I like Harvey's Bristol Cream. That's what I bottle my "private stock" in. If you plan to give some as gifts, recycled fancy liqueur bottles are nice. You can use a desktop publishing program to design your own labels. I would advise printing the labels on regular paper, not sticky labels, and affix the labels to the bottles with clear plastic packing tape. Covering the label with the tape keeps the ink from bleeding. This is the voice of experience speaking. The people I give this stuff to as gifts always seem to be returning the empties for refills, and doing the labels this way makes them a lot easier to remove so you can properly clean the bottles in hot soapy water (rinse well!) in preparation for the next batch.