Therapeutic Revenge

You love them and hate them.  They are powerful and weak.  They are amazing and functional, annoying and stupid.  They help you, and hinder you.   They give you status both good and bad, but always make you broke.  What am I dancing around?  Your car’s engine.  Engines in our cars play an important factor in our everyday lives for transportation, relaxation, or even running from the law. We often find ourselves, taking it for granted, all the blood, sweat, and smashed fingers that went into building it, when everything is fully functional.  We just put the key in the car’s ignition, turn and go.  But what happens when it breaks down?  Most of the time we see it as the most annoying invention that man has created aside from Shake Weights and Snuggie’s.  All you can do is think about how horrible your car’s engine is, how dirty your car always is, and how you wish you had a new one.  The problem with a new car is the same as the old one; it is a piece of machinery, assembled from various parts with nuts and bolts.  It too, will break down one day. That is why we should save ourselves the trouble and blow up our car’s engines whenever we suspect a failure about to happen.  Now, this can be a tricky quest because if you blow it up too soon, you fail; both financially and in good standing with your neighbors. Although, if you realize the problem; at the right time, you can save yourself a lot of heart ache and frustration.

First, we need to discuss some details of an engine to gain knowledge of the various parts that could cause failure, and how to rightfully diagnose the proper time to blow it up.  The engine under the hood of your car is made up of mostly steel and aluminum with lots of moving parts.  On the inside, every automobile engine has the same basic parts; pistons, a crankshaft, a camshaft, cylinder heads, and valves.  Pistons are connected to the crankshaft by a connecting rod.  This takes the up and down travel of the piston and converts it to a rotational torque to finally supply movement.  Geared off the crankshaft is the camshaft.  The camshaft spins at one half the speed of the crankshaft driving the valves that are located in the cylinder head.  The valves control when a cylinder receives fuel and when it exhausts the burnt fuel from the cylinder. These parts, working together, allow the engine to perform the “suck, squeeze, pop, blow” method of a 4-stroke or Otto Cycle engine in your car.  These four sequences, or strokes, are divided up by the position of the piston.  When a piston starts moving downward in cylinder; it sucks, sucking in fuel governed by the opening of the intake valve in the cylinder head.  When the piston moves upward; it squeezes, compressing the mixture of fuel and air.  Then, POP!  The fuel mixture is ignited causing an explosion, causing the piston to travel back down. (We will discuss more about this later.)  The exhaust valve then opens as the piston moves back up in the cylinder blowing out the burnt fuel.  The process then repeats for that cylinder. Keep in mind, that the majority of engines on the road have more than one cylinder, so when one cylinder is on the “pop” stroke, another is on the “suck” stroke ,yet another is on the “blow” stroke, and so on.  Needless to say, with one revolution of the crank shaft there is the potential of several “pop” strokes.  Multiply those “pop’s” by the revolutions per minute (RPM), and you have a disaster ready to happen.  Again, we will get into this a bit later.

Next we will briefly talk about some of the supporting components that help make an engine run;  engine oil, antifreeze, and the battery to name a few.  Every engine needs oil for lubrication and cooling.  The parts in the engine are built to such tight tolerances that oil is required to keep it all moving smoothly and help cool the inside of the engine from heat generated by friction.  Antifreeze, commonly referred to as water, flows through passages throughout the engine block and cylinder head supplying cooling for them by means of heat transfer.   The hot water then flows into little tubes inside the radiator; air passing by these tubes cools off the water before going back into the engine to repeat the process.  Lastly, is the battery; the battery supplies power to make the whole process start.  When you turn the key, then engine starts to turn over moving pistons to the “pop” stroke.  When this happens, the engine can start to run all on its own without the need of any assistance.  It comes alive, if you will?

Now, you may be asking yourself, was all this necessary?  I would say, “yes.”  Without the knowledge of the complexity of an engine, you would never know how easy it was to blow it up.  Which leads us into the topic, When do you know it’s time to make the big decision?

-CAUTION-

Please do not proceed if repairs cost less than the dollar amount to replace a blown up engine

-NOTE-

Caution notes are only for cautious people, I suggest you make your decision “spur of the moment.”

There is no doubt that engines are complex and that is why blowing them up is easier than fixing them.  Some examples of repairs that constitute blowing them up are:

1.  Say you have oil leaking out of the engine from somewhere.  Well, we know that oil is vital to an engine’s lubrication and cooling and should not be on the ground.  It should be in the engine.  This is a complex repair which constitutes blowing it up because it will happen anyway; it’s only a matter of time before the engine completely runs out of oil causing it to blow up on its own; mind as well propel the inevitable and get it over and done with.

2.   If the engine is running hot, it’s time to pull the plug on her.  Chances are that the radiator is having grief and is not allowing the engine to cool down.  When engines get too hot, they blow up on their own or worse, blow a gasket.  If a gasket blows, the engine is savable, but you are left with the anxiety of how to discover which gasket blew.  It would have been easier to just, blow it up.

3.  If you get in the car one morning and turn the key and there is, nothing; this probably means there is something wrong with the battery.  Batteries are the most frustrating repair a car can go through.  Not only does this situation make you late for everything, but once the battery gets replaced; you have to reset your clock and stereo presets.  It is just easier to blow the thing up. (After you get a jump start)

-NOTE-

This is not an exhaustive list, just examples.  Use discretion as you proceed.  Please refer to the top of page to  assist you in properly diagnosing any issues with your car.

-NOTE-

I want to specify that blowing up your engine with explosives is cheating and I do not commend it.  If you want to blow it up the right way, you need to follow the relatively easy process outlined below.

The act of blowing up the engine in your car is simple to do and therapeutic depending on the situation and repair that is needed.  For starters, you will need to have a vehicle that is on your blow up list, a pocket knife, crescent wrench, and a brick.  The easiest way to blow up an engine is through speed.  Not necessarily driving speed, but engine speed.  We have already discussed how fast all the moving parts travel in one cylinder, then multiplied it by how ever many cylinders you have, then by how many revolutions per minute (RPM) the engine is spinning.  The idea is getting the engine on that “pop” stroke as fast as possible.  With speed comes friction, with friction comes heat, with heat comes detonation of fuel before it is designed to, which leads to a blown engine.  Here are two options to choose from.

METHOD 1: The Set it and Run

In this method we will be using the brick solely to assist us in the evolution.  It is best to start with a cold engine, or first thing in the morning, because the internal parts have swollen making tolerances tighter; also, the engine oil is thick, but this is not necessary.

1.  With the door open on the car and while standing outside, start the engine.
2. Leave the transmission lever in park or neutral
3. Throw the brick on the gas pedal, ensuring that you don’t miss.
   1. You want to achieve a positive contact with the pedal and ensure it is fully depressed.
   2. Run!  Run to the closest sheltered area within eye sight.  You don’t want to miss the action.
      1.  As you run you will notice that many of the noises or problems the engine made before will probably not be heard.  Don’t let this fool you; the sound of the engine screaming for mercy drowns out many “problem” noises.  Just continue to believe the truth of your blow up list and have faith that you are making the right decision.
      2. Stand back and watch as things go catastrophically wrong.  With all hope, steam will start billowing out of the hood and out the exhaust.
      3. Finally a loud bang will be heard and the entire ruckus, the engine was making, should cease.
      4. You can now safely approach the car in joy that all your troubles are over.
      5.  Success; you need a new engine.

-NOTE-

If the above option fails, and the engine remains running for 30 minutes without it blowing up, you may need to help it along.  Proceed to the car and shut it off, and use method 2.

METHOD 2: The Help and Run

In this method we will help the engine achieve its final destiny you plan for it. This method consists of more steps and a bit more complicated, but the outcome should be much faster than previously outlined in Method 1.

1. First, crawl under the car with the crescent wrench and remove the oil drain plug and drain the oil.
   1. The plug is located in the middle of the car, on the bottom of the engine.
   2. If that is still unclear, don’t worry; just remove all the, plug-looking, bolts you see.
2. Open the hood of the car and locate the radiator hose near the front of the motor
   1. Cut it with the pocket knife.
   2. If you are not sure which one it is, just cut all of them you see; it doesn’t matter.
3.  Now you are ready to begin.  For this method, I recommend leaving the hood of the car open because the sight of the engine blow will be more entertaining that way.

-CAUTION-

Keep safety in mind in the following steps.  Chances are you did not drain any oil or antifreeze in a container, so the ground is going to be extremely slippery.

    4.  Open the door of the car and while standing outside, start the engine.  Leave the transmission lever in park or neutral                                                           .   5.  Throw the brick on the gas pedal, ensuring that you don’t miss.                                                                                                                                                                   .  6.  You want to achieve a positive contact with the pedal and ensure it is fully depressed.

-NOTE-

Do not be alarmed by the spewing of antifreeze from the cuts you previously made in the hoses, this is normal.

1.  Next, run for cover and watch as your troubles and frustration go away.
2. When the final boom is heard and the engine ceases its, scream of death; you can safely approach the car.
3. This is a good time to examine the damage. 
   1. Most of the time you will not be able to see any physical damage, but with enough revenge on your cars, you may have the luxury to experience a hole in the side of the motor.
   2. Again, this is not alarming; it is a privilege signifying another success in the process of eliminating your car troubles.

I hope these short, and relatively easy steps, of blowing up your car’s engine have gained you comfort, in dealing with, the nuisances of minor automotive engine repairs. You are now ready to gain some therapeutic revenge on the most frustrating instances of life.

A Hybrid Tale of Electric Hopelessness

Picture a beautiful sunny day.  Blue skies are all around and there is a warm gentle breeze coming from the south.  It’s a Saturday, mid-morning and all the cartoons are over.  Your lawn is screaming to be mowed, and your neighbors are screaming as well.  With a shrug of your shoulders, you pile the kids in the car for a fun, family day, and drive to a giant flat piece of asphalt about 50 feet wide and a half mile long.   There are bleacher seats off to one side with a concession stand underneath, selling the perfect hot dog, Bud Light, and soft pretzels.  The stands are full of people dazzled with anticipation and excitement.  An announcer blurts out over the loud speaker,

“Ladies and gentlemen, please stand for our National Anthem”

You take your hat off, place it on your chest, over your heart, and sing in unison with 5000 other people, praising their country.  An uproar of applause, probably heard for miles, begins before the pretty woman singing finishes the word “brave,” followed by… the most intense; chest pounding, adrenaline pumping, eyes twitching, awe inspiring, excitement of raw gasoline being exploded tens of thousands of times a second, producing power strong enough to rattle windows, and your guts, by the 100 or so hot rod cars showing their patriotism to their country by revving their engines.  A song lyric come to mind by the band Cake, “reluctantly crouched at the starting line, engines pumping and thumping in time,” as you pump your fists in the air showing your kids it is okay to not be scared and cry from the sheer power being produced by these amazing marvels of engineering genius. Then you sing the beginning of the song “Fuel” by Metallica, “Gimme fuel, gimme fire, gimme that which I desire.”  Your family day is about to begin at the drag races watching these cars turn gasoline into torque, through explosions contained inside a hunk of metal, commonly called engines.  You can’t wait to see which car is the fastest to make it down the track, winning “brownie points” for the day, and also to see which car is pushed past its limits, making the internal combustion, external.  Just before the races begin, with the smell of un-burnt fuel and tire smoke in the air, you think to yourself,

“Wow, this is amazing.  I sure hope these races never go away in the future,” as you fix your gaze on your buddy, who showed up late in his Prius.  You are not going to experience this excitement with the new electric or hybrid cars of today.  Mostly,what would your family day look and feel like at the track with an electric powered car?  Boring and quiet, I bet.

First of all, with the creation of the electric and hybrid car, we get the ability to produce torque in a non-mechanical way.  For a lot of people, it doesn’t matter how the car goes forward or backwards, but for us normal people, the electric and hybrid idea is a slap in the face to all the years of gasoline engine ingenuity.  A gasoline engine is just that, an engine.  An engine mechanically produces motion and can be called a motor, but an electric motor is never an engine.  It can mechanically produce nothing!  In fact, the electricity that is created to power an electric car was originally produced from an engine.  This brings up a simple question; what came first, the chicken or the egg?  In this case, the engine came first.  Without the engine, there would be no motors, therefore the electric and hybrid car inferior.  Don’t get me wrong, electricity has its place; like shooting out of the sky during a thunder storm and keeping your local power company employees busy, but not propelling our cars.

Secondly, the history behind the gasoline-powered car, by far, surpasses the history of anything electric or hybrid.  We can go back in time, over a century, with an the evolution of the engine in your car, but, poor ol’ electric and hybrid cars only have ten years or so, making them like little ducklings trying to fly with the big guys.  How many times have you heard stories of backyard mechanics, tinkering under the hood of their GOAT (1966 Pontiac GTO), making the classic General Motors big block engine with factory Ram Air induction, run faster in street races by changing the cam shaft and carburetor?  If you are like me and the rest of the U.S. population, I would imagine your answer would be, “all the time.”  Now picture the same backyard mechanic under the hood of a Nissan Leaf (if it even has a hood).    Identification of the parts and components in there would be almost impossible, let alone “souping up” the thing.  I am sure there would be some neat comments about how “black-plastic’y” everything looked though.  Now, you may want to stop here, crumble up this paper and say,

“Whatever!  Technology these days had evolved these electric cars so that we can use them without the need of souping anything up.”

I would say,

“You must have been dropped as a baby.  Technology is a huge asset to all of us but that is not a reason to refrain from souping up your car!  It’s the biggest reason!”

Again, think about stories of growing up.  Remember your family vacations in the Chevy Caprice wagon with wood paneling?  Remember when you had to sit in the back, sweating to death, and fighting with your siblings over whose turn it was to sit in the middle?  Those were the good days.  Yes, Electric and hybrid cars have back seats that you could potentially fight over, and yes, they are big too, if you are an infant, but most infants I have talked to don’t talk back and should be in a car seat anyways.  Something a Caprice Classic has not problems accommodating.

Lastly, I want to take a look at how gasoline cars and electric and hybrid cars have impacted the entertainment industry.  The gasoline powered car has brought about the best music and TV shows America has ever had the opportunity to be blessed with.  Music like “Fuel” by Metallica, “Jesus Built My Hotrod” by Ministry, and “Hot Rod Lincoln” by Commander Cody, just to name a few.  There have been great TV shows also, like; Knight Rider and Dukes of Hazard, which have been staples in American television.  The electric and hybrid world brought us all, “Electric Car” by They Might be Giants and a little blip in a South Park cartoon where Stan (a character in the show) makes a parody about the “joys” of hybrid cars.   With “Electric Car” and South Park, we can all conclude they are entertainment, and that’s about all.

Maybe one day the little electric and hybrid cars of our future will have their own program on The History Channel, created memories for people to look back on, and impact our music and TV like the American gasoline automobile, but until then, they should be treated like a comparison between the heavy metal music of Metallica and the prima donna, pop-psychedelic, emo yuck-mix, of They Might be Giants… OOPS!  Sorry, there is no comparison, only a sarcastic contrast.

The College Years

“What would you do if I sang out of tune? Would you stand up and walk out on me? Lend me an ear and I’ll sing you a tune, I will try not to sing out of key”

It’s ironic that I would name this post “The College Years” when I haven’t even been in college a year yet but I thought I would share a little “tune” in the key of F.  I have to say, in the time that I have been going to college, that I am blown away by the massive amount of boredom from other students that I see walking around campus.  For the past 2 weeks I have been conducting a survey of the students here at college.  Now, this survey is nothing written on paper, logged, or even has good record keeping because I have created it in my mind, (yea, I’m that guy) but nonetheless… the part the strikes me is how lame students are.  I thought these were the Wonder Years?  I guess I have always envisioned college life to be; joyful, partying, and a place where you actually get to learn something that is going to impact your entire life.  What I keep seeing is people sleeping in the library, swearing like sailors, and just plain not friendly.  Today, I parked my car out in BFE because the parking lot was jammed with cars.  Upon walking in, I had to have passed 2 dozen people hanging their head, almost shamefully, as they walked out to their “freedom”, as if someone was forcing them to pay a little over a grand a quarter to attend classes.  I tried to be friendly so some people with a “cool guy” head nod and a “hey” , to only have these crazy “GOOGLIE EYES” staring back at me like a had a giant booger hanging out of my nose.  I really don’t understand why?  Maybe they all failed a midterm?  Maybe they all broke up with each other?  Maybe all their dog’s got hit by a car?  I’m not to sure, but it was a little disheartening.   What happened to these people?  Where is the Wonder Years?  Where is Winnie?  (this is a Wonder Years TV program reference, I’m not looking for Winnie “the person”.. its a metaphor)  WHY ARE THEY PAYING TO SLEEP???

More than likely, I am the weird one here.  At least I’m going to selfishly say that I’m the odd ball.   I think I will still give my “hey’s” and conduct another survey to see how many people respond.

It may be a while before I write about this again.

Dive Dive

It was a clear, dark night.  The moon was high in the black abyss of the sky and the stars glistened like little flakes of metal embedded in paint applied to a car or boat from the late ’70s, mostly referred to as “stripper glitter.”  The air was warmish but when the breeze kicked in, it was almost cool enough to put on a sweatshirt.  I’m not sure if there were any clouds that night, and frankly, I only know that it was night because of the time the clock said and the knowledge that the moon gets high in the sky and the stars are always out.  The time was 2 AM, when most people are staring at the backs of their eyelids, but I was under the ocean in a US Naval Submarine.  2 AM is the mid-watch, which happens to be in the middle of the night, and I was wide awake.

We were at Battle Stations Torpedo simulating the experience of actually being in a gunfight with another submarine.  The entire boat was in a constant state of hustle and bustle.  People were quiet at times, concerned and attentive at times, and working their tails off at other times.  When we were rigged of ultra-quiet the only thing you could hear was a high-pitched whistle from the ventilation blowing out the chilly air and a faint sound of thumping from the hull, a sound that resembles hitting a school of fish or dolphins, perhaps. We just sat there, quiet—actually ultra-quiet.  In the Torpedo Room, the torpedo tubes were loaded for launch with our practice weapons.

“Fire Panel, Torpedo Room, tubes 1, 2, 3, & 4 tube-loaded for launch, tube 4 flooded down, equalized, muzzle door open. Ready for launch at your command,” broke the silence as I radioed to Control with excitement, anticipation, and fear.   We continued to wait there in complete silence for what seemed to be forever.  There were a few radio announcements that came across that brought adrenaline to our core, only to be let down when Control was scared to launch, by the words, “check fire.”  Two words that ruined the rush like your mom and dad catching you with your first cigarette.

Then, “Torpedo Room, Fire Panel, launch tube 4.”We all jumped up ran to our respective places to monitor the situation.

“Click, Click… Whoosh!”  The velocity of 2000 pounds of air being let go to the ejection pump filled the area around tube 4 with musty air that smelled like turning on the air conditioning for the first time in June, as the air was exhausted it turned into condensate, similar to cool evening fog in a cemetery around Halloween.  As the fog cleared, we all waited in anticipation high fiving saying,

“I’m glad they finally got the guts to pull the trigger” we all said, referring to the timid Officer of the Deck and Commanding Officer, for this was still a training exercise and didn’t need to be so elaborate.

Finally the word came across. “Torpedo Room, Fire Panel, target acquired, target hit.  Cut the wire, tube 4”

“Cut the wire tube 4, Fire Panel, Torpedo Room, aye,” I replied back with excitement knowing that this evolution was about to be over.  The cut happened, and then nothing.  Normally a “zing” would be heard from the metal flex hose that housed the guidance wire, when it was leaving the tube, but we heard nothing of the sort, just the sounds of a high pitched whistle and light thumping.

“Fire Panel, Torpedo Room, wire cut, did NOT hear wire leaving tube. Recommend 10 degree down bubble and right hard rudder,” I announced, trying to get the flex hose (which is commonly referred to as the wire) to be pulled out by the force of the water.  After maneuvering around we attempted to close the muzzle door, and drain down the tube.

“Fire Panel, Torpedo Room, tube 4 muzzle door shut, tube drained down, but not dry, recommend flooding down tube 4, equalizing, and launching water slug to clear the wire”  my boss said over the radio.  For now he was stepping in to deal with Control and Fire Panel.  Concerns were rising that the wire got caught somewhere in the tube, not allowing the muzzle door to come shut and seal seawater from entering the tube.

“Aye,” said Fire Panel.  More maneuvers were being made to help us.  The feeling of laying down in an elevator, mixed with the taste of food from my last meal was starting to burn my throat along with throbbing temples from biting down on my teeth trying not to vomit.

“Water slug launched,” I heard someone say quietly in the distance because my hearing was being muffled by a sharp ringing of fear that this may not be a good thing.  As I looked around, everyone was staring at the tube trying to cut the wire again, trying to “think” the wire out of the tube, trying to figure out what was happening. But it was to no avail.

“Fire Panel, Torpedo Room, wire is still caught in tube, recommend securing from battle stations, coming up in depth and manually clearing the wire,”  my boss said to Control.

Before I could get a grasp of what was happening, the Captain, Executive Officer, Weapons Officer, and Chief teleported themselves to tube 4.  Everyone important was there, breathing down our necks like honey badgers ready to fight, ready to get SOMEONE in trouble.  The word came across that we were not going to secure from battle stations and that we were not going to reduce depth (too much) because of the evolution we were in.

Now fear fell over me, because this was real.  The wire had been caught somewhere in the tube, and was blocking one of the two doors that seals out the ocean from filling our “people space.” Moreover, someone had to go in there and make it leave the tube.

Next thing I knew my boss handed me a tool.  It was heavy and cold, silver, with rubber coated handles.  It had a single jaw on it and it curved in a semi-circle, looking dangerously close to a pair of tree trimmers, only hand-held.  He showed me how to use this thing.  You had to push a lever down on the handle to release the jaws making them open.  Then as you squeezed the handles it would ratchet the jaws closed, a fraction of an inch at a time.

I looked at him and asked, “Are you serious?” with doubt and fear.

With a serious smile, and a pat on the shoulder he said, “It’s your turn Cerveny, you are the junior one!  You want to be a Torpedoman!   You want to advance fast!   You’re the one!  This is it!”

I just stood there, mouth open, regretting all my persuasion to advance, and to be the best Torpedoman the boat has ever seen.  In total shock and confusion, not really knowing if I was dreaming or not, I followed as he pulled me closer to the tube and told me to take off my boots and socks.  He continued to give me instruction on what I needed to do while I took the 21-foot dive into the tube.  His voice was muffled and I don’t remember everything he said to me.  It was like hearing someone talk through a paper cup and string telephone.  All I remembered was something like, “I’m going to hold down the drain button that will satisfy the interlock to open the breech door.  You are going to dive the tube as fast as your ass will get you to the muzzle, take that tool, and cut the wire as close to the door as you can, throw out the wire, and haul ass out of there.  Oh, and there is going to be water everywhere. Spraying in from the pinch point at the door… But don’t be too worried, there is 3000 pounds of hydraulic pressure holding that door closed.”

And the process began.

The breach door came open.  Within a few seconds the warm, dirty-colored sea water came pouring out of the opening like a water slide at Great Wolf Lodge, making our feet wet.  With a sense of confusion, concern, and awe I looked at my boss and said, “Don’t you dare close this door behind me!!!” He just looked at me shaking his head in a “NO WAY” motion and signaling with his pointer finger, he said one simple word: “GO.”  One word never had so much meaning and importance before.  I remember thinking, “Go!!! Are you serious?  Couldn’t you have said something better than, go? Something like, ‘you’re awesome, I have faith in you.’   Before I knew it, something came over me.  It was a feeling of pride that I was doing this for my country, honor that he trusted me with the tool more than others and I was going to be the hero of the day, and disbelief that this was actually happening.

With a flashlight in my mouth, I took the leap.  Crawling on my belly I was instantly soaked and my coveralls became heavy with the weight of the water making it difficult to move as fast I wanted to.  Every groove that was machined in the barrel of the tube felt like zipping your finger nail on a lenticular 3D hologram picture of Spiderman out of a box of Cracker Jacks, only on my entire torso.  As I continued to army crawl over the slide valve, I knew I was half way.  The light was reflecting off the spray of water like high beams in dense fog, making it almost impossible to see anything. Every movement, it made the beam of light look like a Hollywood red carpet event spinning around the sky.  I knew I was approaching the muzzle door where the wire was pinched because a sound like a librarian sushing a group of defiant kids was getting very loud from the water spray. My contact blinked out of my right eye.  I looked back to see the hole I came from—I saw it flashing like a strobe light from people’s heads peeking in to see if I was okay, blocking the light from the torpedo room.  I whipped my head around to take a mouth full of water. The jet stream hit that spot on your throat where it makes you gag and cough followed by the burning of your tonsils and up into your nose, like being caught off guard from the surf at a beach.  I could feel the muzzle door because I ran into it with my head.  In my right hand was the tool.  I released the lever and the jaws sprung open.  While shaking my head, spitting out water, and gasping for breath, I felt like someone was pulling a horrible prank on me at a water park—holding me down and spraying me with a water gun.

Since things were blurry from the fog and loss of eyesight in one eye, I felt the wire and where it was pinched at the door.  I could feel the adrenaline speeding through my body like an IV of saline in a dehydrated patient.  It felt good and made me feel alive, alert and shaky.  With every ratchet of the tool I could feel the blade cut through the metal, fractions of an inch at a time. Then CRACK!  I felt nothing. And the tool did not ratchet any more.  Confused as to whether I cut through the wire or not, I pulled.  The tool was being pinched against the muzzle door.  I was too close.  Disbelief ran over me as I frantically reached for the lever to release the jaws.  There was so much tension on it was too difficult of a job for one thumb.  So I used two.  Pushing down on that lever made my arms quiver with muscle exertion until my entire body was shaking applying all my heart, body, and soul into my two little thumbs. POP! It came loose.   Without even checking if the tool was broken or not I attempted the same ordeal again, only about 6 inches from the door.  This was a lot easier.  I quickly ratcheted the handles until it was too hard to squeeze any more.  I felt like I was in the tube for eternity.   I kept saying to myself out loud, “Come on, come on!!” while still spitting out the worst-tasting salt lick.  The wire was cut.  I grabbed the wire, looked behind me, and with one swoop of the wire, I threw it backwards almost moving it a foot.  “Well that sucked” I thought.  I grabbed it again, rolled over to my back and chucked it between my legs with a force that made me sit up, banging my head on the top of the tube.  Then I threw out the tool.  Rolling back to my belly I arm-over-armed backwards toward safety, dryness, and warmth that was calling out from behind me.

All of a sudden two warm hands, like saviors, grabbed a hold of each one of my ankles.  My boss’s hands gripped a hold of me as if I were his son that got caught in the deep end of the pool.  He knew I was scared, and so was he, but he was still there to rescue me from danger.   Then, I was out.  Drenched from a salty shower and sweat, I just stood there catching my breath as If I just ran a marathon.  I picked up the wire and the tool.  One in each hand and just looked at them.  I’m not sure what I was thinking but I just looked in disbelief.  Next thing I knew my teeth were clattering from cold.  A water slug was launched to clear the remaining 6 inches of wire.  I was engulfed in a fog bath of condensation.

“Fire Panel, Torpedo Room, water slug launched from tube 4, tube 4 drained and dry.”

“Tube 4 drained and dry, Torpedo Room, Fire Panel, aye.”

Phosphorescence

 I don’t know where to go or what to do.  I thought I would have all this stuff figured out by now considering I’m a father of 5.  But, No GO!!!

With a new addition to the family brings new challenges.  I think its the same for every family, but I fail to the selfish side of life, so I will stick with my situation and pretend its the worst anyone have ever been through.

My daughter.  Amazing!  Completely amazing.  I can just stare at her and do nothing  but stare more.  She is like looking into a scene consisting of the northern lights glistening in the sky and waves crashing on a beach filled with phosphorescence.  The fact that she is surrounded with blue LED lights to fight off the Jaundice she received from birth…helps, but apart from her yellow skin and eyes, she is beautiful, and I am helpless.

I wonder if I will ever be able to be sober in spirit to walk this everyday life without yelling at the rest of my family?  When the “phosphorescence” cries, has an upset stomach, or throws up… I don’t know what to do, I’m lost.  It aches me to the core watching her be in pain or discomfort and it seems that only mom can comfort her. And that kills me too.  I want to be a hero for my wife as well.  Proving to her that I am useful around the house and to her.  Yet, all that seems to come out is harshness. So much so, that I take it out on the rest of the family.  Especially my oldest today.

Today, I threw a pair of socks, that I was going to wear, out of the kitchen toward my shoes.  I did this because I wasn’t quite ready to leave yet and I was watching my wife scramble to get lunch made for the other kids.  In my head, I knew that she was on limited time because the baby was sleeping and she decided to use this liberty to make food.  Something that a normal person who didn’t just go through labor a few days ago could handle.  I wasn’t doing anything to help.  I was failing.  Failing to help her, failing to love her, failing to give her rest, failing…  When my son saw me launch my socks out of the kitchen he just stared at me with his mouth open.  Open like he was trying to catch flies, or an alligator standing by for a fish to swim through his jaws of death.  Then he said to me, “what??? you yell at us when we throw our stuff around, and you just did.”   I lost it.  Assuming that he was just waiting for me to mess up so he could snap his jaw shut for the kill, I barked back like rabid dog.  My pride got so crushed that I wouldn’t stop.  How dare a 12yr old call me out!!! I am dad! But, he was right.  I did throw my stuff around.

I proceeded to crush him with words until he was in tears and gasping for a breath.  My wife started telling me that this was the “heat” and I didn’t deal with it right.  This was another crushing set of words.  My ego was being trampled as if I were in a bull run.  I proceeded to tell her to shut her mouth and she needed to stay out of it. … another fail.

My son and my wife had full liberty to tell me those things.  In fact, they were in the right.  I was in the wrong.  My emotions of being a miserable husband and father echoed into my life so strong that I lashed out.  WHY???   I cant blame my northern lights and phosphorescence.  I cant blame my amazing wife that wants me to succeed at everything I do.  I cant blame my son, who is just 12.  I have to blame me.

God, I ask you help me with my attitude.  Although I apologized to my family for my lack of trust to you, can you help me be a servant.  Not for people to see, my pride, my wife, or kids, but a servant for You.  I lack everything without you.

We have all forgiven each other for the wrongs we have done in our verbal attacks.  I just cant shake the fact that I was so helpless.  Helpless in my physical actions, and helpless with my words.  I allowed NO one to help me.  That wasn’t cool.

Identity?

Drugged from surgery

It was a cool October evening.   Anxiety built up inside me between the job that was ahead of me and being home with the wife and kids.  About 2 hours before the job I got a phone call.

“The truck has blown out exhaust elbow pipes.  They have to be replaced tonight.”

My response to the jaw-dropping, baffling comment was:

“Umm… ok. I guess…  I have community group tonight so I suppose I could come tonight and get that job done… unless it can wait until tomorrow morning?”

A quick response followed…

“Well, the truck is running all day tomorrow in eastern Washington and it’s a road violation… So we are going to need to get them replaced.”

OK.”   I replied with the deep irritating feeling that I really didn’t want to leave my house for a 2 to 4 hour job at 9PM. But I’m a Cerveny, loyalty to my boss runs through my veins, and is the only way to “make it” in this world, even if it destroys your family and makes you miserable.  Or so I have been told.

From that moment on, when I pushed END CALL on my phone, I was battling the inner thoughts of:  how am I going to tell my wife that I have to work?  Am I shorting God with community group?  Am I putting work ahead of God? And,  I want to quit my job!  That battle was verses the justification that, well, this is how you make it in this world.  You have to be miserable.

The conversation with the wife went relatively well.  She was disappointed but understood my dilemma and feelings.  I fought being angry for the entire night even while talking about Jesus with the group that gathered at my house.  How hypercritical could one person be.   I’m fighting anger and frustration while talking about how much Jesus loves!!!  This constant battle in my head fleshed its way out in the form of complaining.  So, in my attempt to “be a holy person” and smother my feeling s of a hypocrite, I became a complainer.  I found the group of people at my house leaving sooner than normal.  Their excuse was, “I feel bad for you that you have to work… we are going to leave early so you can get to work to come home sooner.”   HOW MUCH WORSE!  In all my efforts of not being a hypocrite… I became a hypocrite.  I guess it goes to show you that no matter what I do as a person, my sin will win without Jesus.

But that is another topic all together – back to the saga.

On the drive to the sand and gravel pit, my emotions were still on HIGH in my insides, to the point that butterflies were flapping their wings in my stomach.  I swear that some of them made it up my esophagus leaving that awful taste in your mouth.  Almost like I actually ATE a butterfly.   Why did I feel this way?

“ Maybe, it was the fact the Job was something I have never done before; or, the idea that I am not going to be home to put my kids to bed; or, the thought that my wife was going to be without me; or, I’m going to be working under the lights powered by a generator fighting the thought of being eaten by a coyote or even worse… BIGFOOT!”  Because, I don’t know if you are aware of it, but Bigfoot loves sand and gravel pits and really REALLY loves being around noisy generators.  It’s how he keeps his secret.  He finds some pitiful soul working on semi-trucks at a dark pit, walks up to him and says,

“Hey bro.. I’m wicked thirsty! Got any water?” and then proceeds to eat said person.

I’m not sure if that is actually the case.  But at least I was thinking about as I was continuing to make the list bigger and worse with every thought.

At the dark pit,I fired up my only source of civilization: the generator.  I flicked on the lights and assessed the job.  Sure enough, a giant hole in the pipes just below the mufflers.  One on each side.  I thought to myself,

“Oh, I’ll just patch them.  I’ll take this piece of flat steel and shape it into a 6″pipe that makes a 90 degree bend.   -Yeah, good thought Chris!  That is nearly impossible!  And remember, you don’t know how to weld and, you’re a Cerveny.  That isn’t being loyal to the job.  That is cheating anyway.”

So I sucked up my cheap thoughts and started diving into the job.

First, I took the bolts off the bracket mount on top.  Then on the bottom, followed by removing the clamp band that holds the muffler to the pipe and sealing it from exhaust gas leakage.  “WOW,” I thought.  “All these bolts are coming out!! This is going to be easier than I thought.  Maybe there is some redemption for all my frustrations and hypocrisy.”

I grabbed hold of the muffler like a three year old hugging his teddy bear, and gave it a twist, trying to separate the muffler from the pipe.  NOTHING, at first.  Then I got smart and fired up the OxyAcedalyne torch.  Heating up the metal until it was almost pliable did the trick. POP. The muffler came off the pipe.  Now all I needed to do was replace the pipe, re install the muffler, tighten the clamps, and bolt up the mounts.

I was feeling good about this so far.  In my “human nature”  I had forgotten all about the butterflies, what caused them, and Bigfoot.  I said again to myself, “this is awesome, an hour and a half into this and I’m half way done.  I’ll be home around 11 at this rate.”  Then I proceeded to do a touchdown dance and gave myself the best high five any one could give themselves.

After a short celebration, I started tackling the other side.  Performing all the same steps as the last and thinking that it would be identical, I ran into an issue.  Bolts were braking and I had the worst fight with that ridiculous clamp that seals exhaust gas and holds the muffler to the pipe.  I also discovered that my temper was rising as I saw the 11 o’clock hour slip by.

How quick my attitude can change from my circumstances!

I finally got the clamp cut off heated the muffler with the torch and gave it a twist.  NOTHING. Gave it another twist. Nothing.  Used more heat… NOTHING!!  Sprayed oil on the seam… used more heat, NOTHING!!!  Now I was as HOT as the muffler.   I think BIGFOOT would have been scared of me.  I would have eaten him, FOR SURE!!!

I hugged that muffler tighter than I have hugged anything in my life.  Wallowed in anger, that this was taking forever, frustration that- I was being beat by an inanimate object, shame that I was acting this way, and sadness that I wasn’t home with my family, – I twisted that muffler and got about an inch of travel in both directions then… pop, and POP! The muffler spun, my hand slipped off nearly smacking myself in the face, and I went down with an amazing pain in my wrist.

It was one of those pains that you look at knowing that it hurts but you can’t quite feel the full extent of it yet. And then… WOW!! There it was.  The feeling like someone just blew up a grenade in my wrist.  As I paced back and forth staring at my wrist as if I were superman with e-ray vision to determine what exactly I had done, my emotions got the best of me again and any tool within grabbing distance was being thrown out into the dark abyss. Because that what makes pain feel better.  Throwing things.  Or so I have been told.

Now I know I wasn’t getting home anytime soon, and I made the dreaded phone call home.  “Honey” I said. “I hurt myself.  My wrist is swollen and is in wicked amounts of pain, but I can move it.”

Still pacing back and forth we decided that I would be OK.  And besides, I couldn’t leave the truck the way it was.  It was hitting the road in a few hours for now it was a little after midnight.

The cold air was setting in and I finally got the muffler off by breaking the pipe- a procedure that took all of 10 minutes to do and would have saved two hours, all the physical pain, and mostly, the emotional heart ache.  I then replaced the pipe reinstalled the muffler, tightened the clamps, washed up and left the “hole in the ground” around 2AM.  A measly two hours. before the truck was rolling out for the day’s journey.

Two weeks later I finally went to the doctor because I wasn’t getting better.  It turns out that throwing tools doesn’t actually do anything.  The doctor put me in a brace to keep my wrist straight.  Many months later, I had surgery to repair a tendon that I pulled out of place, crushing it, and placing it on top of my ulnar bone.  Turns out I was superman all along and I don’t have to worry about Bigfoot anymore either.

So here I sit, almost a year after my “attitude”.  The wrist is still not healed and I’m still not working.  My “attitude” has affected my wife who is pregnant with our 5th child, refinancing our house at record low interest rates, and an idea of being 32 and not knowing what I want to be when I grow up.

Or was this part of the big plan all along?  That I would be a college student.  The exact opposite of what I was trained to be.  It’s hard to believe most days, but my identity is not found in the work I do, it is in who God has made me to be. – A lover of Jesus, a husband, and a father.  Everything else is… everything else.  My “attitude” didn’t change “who” I am, it changed what I was at that moment.  But that attitude, helped make me who I am today:

-A person struggling with his attitude and struggling with who, God has made me to be.

An Idea

So once upon a time I had an idea. Now this idea came to me because I have a good friend that started it and I have paid for it because I am in college. It turns out that English 101 requires you to think and to write your thoughts down in some sort of “JOURNAL” format.

So, I guess I just told you the Idea. Why not type the thoughts that I have going on in my head?

It turns out that this idea isn’t a new one for me. For years I have been writing down my thoughts, heart ache, discoveries, and joys… but I seldom compile them into one place. They were always scribbled on a random piece of paper or in a margin of a book where they got lost in the hustle and bustle of everyday life, and never looked at again.  Lost like fuel in an engine when its running “rich” at idle.  I have had moments in my history that I would write things down in some sort of “MAN diary” that I still have to this day. In fact, I can still recall the things written down in there. (mostly because I was a confused teenager, and I am astonished by how “messed up” I was/and still am) Moreover, I used to write some poetry. MAN POETRY, because I have self conscience issues that don’t allow me to relate to poetry without inserting the word MAN in front of it… assuming that it makes me feel better. –another issue that will have to be addressed.—

So with this Idea of writing stuff down… maybe it will last, maybe it wont. Probably somewhere in the middle, like the 3rd sibling of 5. Where that kid knows that Mom and Dad want to play with them… there just happens to be 4 other kids that suck the life out of ’em and they are left with sporadic moments of fun

So Lets give it a whirl?.. OVER AND OUT!!!!

I'm The 3rd