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Category Archives: Family
Weekend Idolatry
And now for something a little lighter.
Saturday was Soccer Day, with my Under 12 Boy’s CYO team on the road with a 2 pm game. J. had been skating the night before at a Katrina relief ice-skateathon or something with his friend C., and then had a sleepover at C.’s, so perhaps he was a bit more sluggish than usual. But in any case, we all managed to get out the door to the game together this week (the whole crew in one place…the logistics are mind-boggling).
K., now hard-core as he’s playing JV soccer at Poly, wanted to run the kids into the ground as a warm-up. I eased him up and reminded him that it was going to be a long, hot game. And it did get hot–90′s again. I don’t remember September this late being this hot recently.
In the end, it was a tie again (making Brood X’s record for this year 0-2-0, at least 50% better than our record at this point last year). Then we grabbed lunch and headed for HampdenFest.
After grabbing beers and snow-cones, we wandered down toward the Hampden Idol contest in time to catch:
- An adequate execution of “Gloria”
- A woman who made “Whole Lotta Love” sound like a cat in a dryer
- Ali’s inspiring rendition of “Don’t Stop Believin’” (to which K. and I waved our cell phones)
- Chris, the “Thin White Guy”, performing “Let’s Go Crazy”, and stealing the show
My ex A. and her husband D. arrived in the midst of this. As we stood there on the Avenue after the wrapup of Hampden Idol, Benn came by. He pointed out that the spot where P. and my ex were sitting on the curb was in fact the scene of a murder:a street person, known for being a loan shark to addicts, had grabbed a little girl walking to the community center after school, and she ran in to the center crying; her grandfather emerged with a cane and beat the guy to death in broad daylight.
On that note…we headed out shortly thereafter. The boys left with my ex for the night, and P., Z. and I headed to New No Da Ji for dinner before calling it a night.
Sunday, we met up with the boys and A&D at the Irish Festival at the Armory. Nothin’ is as Irish as passing through an armed checkpoint to get a beer, I suppose; the Guard was conducting ID checks on every person who entered the Armory. Aside from the asses from Noraid (or, perhaps, the “reformed asses” would be more appropriate now that they’re allegedly behind the peace process–but from the stickers they were giving people, you’d think they were still shipping the Provos Armalites), it was a pleasant enough event, with Z. enthralled by the Irish dancing and K. intrigued by the Irish dancers. I got a free Smithwick’s as the beer concession tried to empty the kegs. J. shook us down for money for a shamrock ballcap and a faux-celtic dragon pendant. It was a Gallagher family heritage event.
Then, it was home and back to homework and other work and the grind of the week ahead.
I can’t believe I’m buying another minivan
Somebody shoot me.
The old Dodge Grand Caravan urban assault vehicle (well, it’s 6 years old, but it looks older) has been drawing all sorts of snide remarks from the family. My eldest son keeps talking about getting it on “Pimp My Ride”, or painting it all haze-grey and adding gun ports. My wife is embarrassed to ride in it. Even my 4-year old says she wants a new car.
Well, today, just to humor them, I stopped at a few dealerships to look at my options. I tried steering the discussion something less…vanny, like a Pacifica, or maybe a hybrid Highlander.
Well, after being reminded why we had gotten the Dodge Grand Caravan UAV in the first place, I was left with the realization that I was stuck in van-land. And with all this “employee pricing” stuff, and my political bent, we were pretty well set on going American. So, we’re going with the Chrysler Town & Country Touring. At least it’s a little more tricked out than my current ride.
But it’s still a minivan. And even though I’d come to love the old champagne Grand Caravan for all its dents and scratches, it’s gonna take a while to get to love the new one, which we need to negotiate the details on on Monday.
But the Sirius satellite radio will probably help.
social climbers
Potatoes not fired and eyebrows not scorched in vain
My son, the Kevster, won first prize for physics in the Junior Division of the Morgan State Science Fair on Saturday, for his presentation on potato gun ballistics.
We’re already trying to figure out how to top this for next year, when he’ll be competing against HS seniors.
Singed Eyebrows in the name of Science
Kevin, Paula, Zoë and I went out to do the data collection phase of Kevin’s science project–firing the potato gun and measuring the range and flight time of its spud projectiles. And everything went fine … almost. At least, it went fine while the video camera was on.
The science of flying potatoes
This weekend, my eldest son and I did some serious academic research into thermodynamics, general physics and the science of ballistics. In other words, we were testing out this year’s science fair project: the potato gun.
Those who know our past experiences with science fair projects, such as rocket-powered helicopters, were a little leery about the idea of Kevin (and I) doing anything that had to do with combustion. (With the helicopter–a twin-rotor job built from scratch–there was the small matter of not having enough amperage/too much resistance to ignite the engines on all four rocket motors, and having to get a little too close to harm’s way to attempt to get ignition.) But we figured that if we followed standard safety procedures, there was little chance of either one of us catching on fire.
Last week, using directions off of SpudTech.com, we assembled a fearsome-looking spud bazooka out of pressure-rated PVC pipe. The whole apparatus is just about 4 feet long (3 feet of barrel, and the rest being combustion chamber). The firing mechanism was the most expensive component: a $15 replacement piezoelectric gas grill igniter.
Yesterday, Paula retrieved our ammunition for us (four good-sized Idaho russets and two cans of Suave deodorant) before taking Zoë out for a few hours. I grabbed an old sock, and told Kevin to accompany me to the backyard, where we performed our first test-firing–with the sock as the projectile. The shot sounded more like a wind instrument than a firearm; the sock flew about 30 feet, scaring a stray dachshund out of the alley.
Then we headed out to a nearby field behind a large city school, where we had a clear half-mile of range to work with. And the spud-hurling commenced.
It was way more fun than it should have been.
We, er, needed to check many different firing angles and propellant loads to establish what we would need to do to properly prepare for the actual data collection phase of the experiment, so we ended up shooting for almost an hour and a half–first just with potatoes, and then with a mix of projectiles. A few field-notes:
- The butane in aerosol deodorant is certainly an adequate propellant, but the deodorant itself quickly fouls the electrodes and prevents spark unless you clean them between shots. I’d try propane, but I fear it might be a bit too efficient a propellant for the task of measuring ballistics. (In other words, we might not be able to find the projectiles afterward.)
- You can easily convert the spudthrower to other, found ammunition by using a cloth or sock as wadding. Golf balls found at the scene were excellent projectiles. In fact, one was perhaps too good a projectile, as it never was observed actually landing.
- Any crowd that gathers to see what you’re up to can easily be assuaged if you’ve got a teenager with you and you simply say, “Science project.”