Smiles Per Gallon

Over the course of my life cars have just been cars. Sure I have been excited about some of the car purchases, like the ’85 Mustang and the 2000 & 2003 Tahoes.



But today’s purchase surpassed them all.

The Mini has been a hoot the entire way home. Even just driving to the store was a blast.

Aimee has been squealing like a…well, like a little girl and has been asking me to go for a ride just for the sake of driving.

I got the iPod attachment for the car and the iPod mini works seamlessly with the car.

On a twisty road near the house I blared Blur’s Track #2 over the speakers and both Aimee and Jill screamed WooHoo!!! along with the song.



We are nothing short of ecstatic about the new car.

The heck with the fact that it gets 32 miles per gallon, we’re just overjoyed to drive it.

Ding Dong

In our part of town a house will not drop on you.

Nor shall you be felled with a bucket of water.

The Wicked Witch of the South was killed by two loads of dirty laundry.

If the weight didn’t get her, the smell did.

Happy Halloween

The Gun

Jill is abhorrent to guns.

She can’t even say the word gun.

She refers to the gun as “your thing.”

“Your thing is showing” she says. “It’s sticking out from underneath the bed.”

At least Thelma (from Thelma & Louise) would pick up the gun like a dead rat by the tail.

Jill cannot even bring herself to be in the same room if it is unsheathed.

When Jill was a child she had a neighborhood friend that was killed while playing with a gun. It made a lasting impact with her.

When we first got married I had purchased a .45 for home defense. Over the years it sat in storage, shot only on rare occasions.

As soon as Aimee was born I field stripped it and locked it up. There was no chance of an accident. Even if the child was able to reassemble the weapon back to firing condition I kept the ammo locked up in a separate place. Although a daughter of an ex paratrooper she lacked the dexterity, knowledge or height to get herself into trouble.

When we moved to Sacramento I was fortunate to meet a world-class skeet shooter and trainer. On my first day of shooting I found out that I was pretty good…better than average. I asked the trainer who stated that I was the third best person that he had ever seen shoot on the fist time out. So I ask who was number one and number two.

Number two was the National Skeet Shooters Association 12 gauge champion back in the mid ‘80s

Number one was a member of the Olympic team.

Immediately I began to have Olympic size daydreams.

The reality of it was that I was an incredibly good shooter with some raw talent, but not really world class. I’ve had a year of informal training and my ability runs from incredibly average to spot on. On average I shoot a 23, but when I get tired or my timing is off I can often watch my scores plummet.

Last June after a long stint of not shooting I shot a perfect 25 on my birthday. I shoot infrequently. Between school, work, the family and the cost of crates of ammo I do not get to get out as often as I would like.

When I am out there on the field I try to shoot with the pros. I can usually spot them and I try to fit my way on the line up.

A couple of weeks ago I was out there with the 2003 Georgia State .410 gauge champion. He shot a perfect 25 I shot a 23.
I made the comment that “ I try to make it a point to shoot with professionals so that I can get better.” Secretly inside I want to know that I rate, that I can hang with them. Most times I do. Billy then told me, “hang on, let me get you a real champion.” From around the cinderblock wall he returned with a teenager – a kid in his mid-teens. But on his vest was a patch that read, “USA NSSA All-American Team.”

At that point we all lined up and started the counter-clockwise movement on the field. I wasn’t nervous, I just didn’t want to be out there with a miserable performance amongst the best. At the end of it all the All-American kid shot 25, Billy 24 and I came in with 23…not too bad.

Now if I could only get out there with the Olympic team to see how I would fair.

I sold the .45 back in 2002 and used the money to get a custom case for the shotgun. Both the case and gun are a site to behold.

A special thanks to Harv Holcomb for working with me for over a year and showing me how to shoot and a great big thanks to Kenn Salmon for believing in me and helping me get a competition-worthy gun.

Skeet shooting is something I know that I will do for the rest of my life.

One down, one more to go

This year should be aptly named “The Year of The Car” for our family.

This year, specifically this summer we needed to get two cars.

The lease on the Tahoe expires in a month.

Jill’s Pontiac Grand Am was dying a slow and painful death.

As far as function and purpose was concerned we need to get one car and an SUV or mini-van. With gas prices anticipated to hit the three dollar mark and predicted to be at 5 dollars by the end of next year we decided to not keep the Tahoe. It costs us about sixty dollars a week to keep the beast going. Don’t get me wrong, the Tahoe is a spectacular vehicle. A true joy to drive and thing of pride and joy for me. For many years I had wanted a Tahoe and for the last six years I’ve had two of them, so in some way I am sated.

Last month brought the swift demise of Jill’s car. Because of the multiple trips that I take to school and work I was the one that got stuck with it. We were trying to save the mileage on the Tahoe. The Grand Am then began to overheat, daily. Then the air conditioner would die as soon as the car over heated. We knew that the car would not last. With the little bit of money that we had for a down payment we headed into the Honda dealership and got a 2005 Pilot. I know, at the moment we have 2 SUVs. As soon as October rolls around we’ll turn the Tahoe back in. Around that time arriving on a boat from England and across the country by truck our new Mini Cooper S should be in.

With a curb weight of 2200 pounds and 160 horses under the hood the Cooper S is quite a vehicle. The fun factor alone is worth the 36 smiles to the gallon. The little rat of a car zips around corners and can pass a semi on the freeway with great ease.

Jill did not want the manual version, she glugged and stalled it too much on the test drive. As a compromise we got the automatic transmission with the tripronic paddle shifters on the steering wheel. The right paddle shifts up, the left shifts down, just like on the formula one cars.

Yes I fit, no it’s not a clown car.

We’ll keep you posted when the new “baby” arrives.

Confessions of a Non-Running F@#%

Running here in Arizona is challenging if not impossible at certain times of the year. With the temperatures over 100 degrees there is a serious risk of heat exhaustion or even heat stroke.

I am historically a vampire runner. I like to run in the dark.

1. I overheat easily
2. I am self conscious of myself and don’t want people to see me running

I have a treadmill in my house that basically solves both of those problems, but like many have gravitated away from working out for various reasons. I went 5 months without working out earlier this year. At one point the treadmill served as a valet and was covered with my work shirts and slacks.

My first impression of running as a hobby or past time was that it was inane, boring yet at the same time painful and meaningless experience. Once I managed to get past the third block on the run my opinion changed, but not very much.

I was made to run, it was not a choice but rather a conspiracy between my grandmother and mother who had decided that I was too fat for my own good and that the only way to get rid of the 35 extra pounds that I was carrying as a 7th grader was to run it off.

In high school I ran so slow that the gym teacher did not even stay to record my time for the 2-mile run. The entire class had left me out on the field

On the first day of basic training a drill sergeant, Sergeant Kolonie had me run up and down the street in what seemed like a meaningless exercise. After several short sprints he declared, “Flores, you are one non-running f#@%.” Later that year he would be involved in the death of a young recruit as a result of heat exhaustion on a forced march.

When I was in the 82nd Airborne Division I was constantly having challenges and was often falling behind on PT runs. No matter what I did I was just never fast enough.

My lack of running talent is highly apparent even on film. I starred as a police detective in a student film at Art Center College of Design in Pasadena. As the part of an officer chasing a younger subject I in comparison look as if I am running in slow motion. It was laughable. Running in a suit, trench coat and weapon holster is no easy thing mind you.

Over the years I have picked up running now and again. It’s been more on than off and for the most part I still suck at it.

But there have been some fleeting moments, when I was in shape and able to run a long distance. I felt that I was flying, that I was not moving and that the road beneath me was. It was a Zen experience. I hope to feel that way again soon.

The human resources manager at my work started on a running program recently. She signed up with Team in Training, a program that benefits Leukemia and Lymphoma victims. She has no running experience but was brave enough to sign up for a 13.1 mile half-marathon. With all of my years of experience as a beginning runner starting over and over again I decided to impart my little wisdom and training tips to her. In doing this she in turn inspired me to start running again. All of the dress shirts and slacks have come off of the treadmill. I run 3 to 5 times a week and I’ve been at it for over two months now. Like a little hamster on a wheel I get on and plod away daily as the fake asphalt moves beneath my feet at the desired rate of speed (which is usually slow) with a comforting whirr. I wear my iPod mini and crank rock, rap and techno to help kill the strains, stitches and lung burning. Despite the runner’s pains I get better every day. So far I can run a mile and a half without stopping. My goal is to get to five miles, that’s when the real progress will kick in.

I still eat like a pig and have not lost a single pound, but I enjoy the call of the road (albeit a fake one).

I like how I feel after a good workout, and that alone is a good enough reason to do it.

I have to salute someone like Alice to rise to such a challenge. Having never run a single mile she has volunteered to run 13. It takes a lot to get out there to try and conquer the road. The road doesn’t care what you are doing and why you are doing it, nor will you receive any help from it. Yet Alice is running to help others that are much less fortunate than us. This is truly noble.

About 12 years ago my mother-in-law was diagnosed with leukemia. She was given 10 years or less to live. I know that some of the treatments that she has received (and have probably extended her life as a result) are because of the donations received from the foundation. Everyday that she is here is a blessing and we are thankful.

Please donate to the Leukemia and Lymphoma Foundation and assist Alice on her run:

http://www.active.com/donations/fundraise_public.cfm?key=tntdmsAPike

Smote

The Monsoon season is upon us. Tonight we were hit with a severe thunderstorm that produced hail and severe lightning and wind.

Up until this point Jill had always thought that I was chicken to go out in the rain.

Then at dinner Aimee asked me if I had ever seen lightning strike before.

“Well sweetheart, I’ve seen it twice”

“How close were you?” she asked.

I pointed up to the ceiling where it met the wall about 9 feet away.

About 20 years ago I was at the US Army Airborne School at Ft. Benning, Georgia.

I was just getting out of a taxi cab and walking next to a cyclone fence that secured the school’s generator.

I felt the hair on my arms and on the back of my neck stand up (I had my head shaved at the time).

CRRRRAAAAAACK!!! PIIING!

My left leg and arm went numb.

About a dozen people ran up to me screaming at me, asking if I was okay.

“Yeah….I guess, why?”

“Look”

I looked up to see that top of the cyclone fence pole was freshly sheared and blackened and was glowing cherry red with heat.

I gained a new respect for the sky that day.

A look of quiet discovery came over my wife’s face. “Now I know why you hesitate to go outside when it thunders”

I didn’t realize that after 13 years of marirage I had never told her that story.

Extreme Heat

I know that I have been complaining about the heat and trying to make light of it through humor. But with the recent events in Phoenix I just didn’t have the heart to see the humor in it.

http://www.cnn.com/2005/WEATHER/07/21/heat.wave.ap/index.html

18 people have died so far as a result of the extreme temperatures. Most of them died outside, alone, homeless. They lived and died nameless, faceless victims in society. It’s a shame that when the weather turns inclement that the homeless suffer the most. The summer storms are now upon us and hopefully that will bring the temperature down low enough for those living under the freeway overpasses, under the bushes and near the canals to have some relief.

I am thankful that I have a good job, a home for my family (with air conditioning) and overall a good life.

About two years ago Jill and I decided that we would involve Aimee in some sort of martial art. I was going to take her on a grand tour of all of the various dojo’s in Phoenix to show her all of the various styles of martial arts that she could practice. Secretly in my heart I was hoping that she would choose Aikido. I had studied Aikido for a year or so in my youth and thought that it was really a great art in that it focused on both the physical and spiritual side of the art. We didn’t make it past the first school. She saw the kid’s Aikido program at the Chandler Dojo and immediately fell in love with it. I could not get her to budge. She didn’t even want to look at another school or style of martial art. Since then she has progressed through three belts (which is fast considering that it takes 10 to 15 years of mastery in the traditional Japanese system) and is planning to stay through her black belt.

Last summer when the temperatures soared, we were waiting at a stop light at a freeway off ramp. I did my normal anti social behavior of avoiding eye contact with the homeless man flashing his “Please help, God bless” sign as he aimed it at all of the drivers waiting to go about their lives. Aimee saw this and shouted “Dad, roll down the window and give him something!” “Aimee, I don’t have any cash on me” I replied. She then asked me to reach in the center console between the driver’s and passenger’s seat. I was surprised to see that there was a large ziplock bag with a bottle of water, a granola bar, some handi-wipes and various sundries. "We made a kit to give out to homeless people in Aikido class" Aimee proudly stated. In a daze I flagged the man over and handed him the bag. He appreciatively took it. A great feeling of satisfaction washed over me. For the first time in a long time I felt good about helping someone. I was not bitter or angry about saying no because I had the preconceived notion that the homeless person was going to buy alcohol or drugs with what handout that I gave him.

We gave him what he needed and for that he was thankful.

I felt a little verklempt at that moment knowing that my daughter turned out to be a caring person. That a I had involved her in something that was not only beneficial for herself but that taught her to think about and care for others.

We the fortunate should all be so selfless and caring of others.

How you can help:

http://www.phoenixrescuemission.org/

The Phoenix Rescue Mission provides water, shelter and food to the homeless and is in need of donations of bottled water this summer.

The Cicada's Song

The scorpion has long chased the hunter and his dog from the night sky

As the temperatures soar the cicadas “sing” and the hot air resonates both day and night with their intense buzzing.

The cicadas have long been a mystery for me. I had first heard them as a boy when visiting my family in Mexicali and on trips to San Felipe, Mexico.

To hear the cicadas is an amazing experience. It seems as if they are in every tree and bush yet go unseen. The Mesquite, Palo Verde and Palms are filled with them. All is quiet at first, then like some unwritten agreement all start up in harmony all at once. BBBBBBZZZZZZZZZZZZ! Like a frayed power line they buzz until a loud noise startles them, then they silence upon the impending danger.

Once I drove through the summer night enjoying the coolness of the air as an impending thunderstorm neared. My headlights flared as they caught the flurry of something ahead.

WHACK! I am hit in the head by something hard and solid. I swerve the Tahoe off the road and turn on the dome light inside the truck. I look on the floorboard to see a gigantic green “fly” buzzing at my feet. A cicada had just hit me in the temple. I rush home to show Aimee, but she is already asleep. When we both wake the cicada is dead, probably as result of the impact to my skull. She is unimpressed and asks me to throw it out.

Native American legend has it that 2 weeks after the cicadas sing that the rains will come.

The humidity is beginning to rise – the dark clouds build on the horizon.

Once again the cicadas have let us know that the monsoons approach.

http://www.cicadamania.com/cicadas/

Hellzahot

With the temperatures hitting record highs in the valley soaring around the 115° mark very little escapes the wrath of the heat.

If the temperatures are over 100° out side the temps inside a car can easily reach 160° + (this is not a joke)

Consequently any living being left in a car will perish within minutes (seriously, there are multiple deaths of children and pets every year in Phoenix)

Anything not made out of pig iron will melt.

Over the years we have seen crayons turn into rainbow puddles of wax, audio CDs will bake and shrinky-dink down to the size of a silver dollar.

Aimee made the mistake of leaving a plastic pen in the car yesterday