Dear Friends,
Eventually, you stop buying frozen pizzas in favor of long heavy tubes of ground beef and five-pound bags of chicken breast. You start eying expensive cooking implements with envy. You starting asking questions like, "does this trip to Publix constitute a complete nutritional palette?" and "will this box of Honey Nut Cheerios go stale before I finish it?" A moment of silence, my dear friends, for our lost innocence. May we all once again subsist, in some happy future, on pureed carrots and unsweetened applesauce.
On a similar (but less relatable) note, I've stopped using electric lights. Borrowing from the wisdom of my Haitian friends, I bought a handful of cheap candle holders and a couple pounds of dinner candles. I don't know if it saves me money, but a) I love lighting matches, and b) it's easier to focus when you can only see objects within a couple feet of the light source. There a mini chandelier in my dining room, and all the light bulbs are partially unscrewed except one so that it's not too bright when I turn it on. I'd find a similar solution for the kitchen, but my knives are too sharp for that.
Sometimes it's all I can do to survive. No matter how easy or difficult my life has been, there have always been times I have had to... maintain. Take a moment, breathe, wait for the next moment. Sometimes it helps to be equipped for those moments; I keep my dining table equipped with candles, a sketchpad, and a variety of drawing implements (though I'm a terrible artist). My computer has a Mellow playlist when I feel like moping to Iron and Wine and Sigur Rós. I keep myself stocked with comedies and chocolate chip cookies (various of my friends can attest to the magic of frozen homemade cookies).
While I acknowledge that life is wont to hover just North of bearable, I'm also starting to glimpse my own capacity for contentedness. My daily routine glows with a thousand joys, from a favorite song strumming from my beloved set of speakers to that five pound bag of chicken breast waiting for an oven, a sprinkle of lemon juice, and baby potatoes. There are times when I think the unthinkable: that if this were all there were to life... maybe it would be okay.
"Misery loves company," as they say; but maybe that's just because it's so easy to find. Draw a deep breath, smile painfully, and tell any stranger that life is complex. That love sucks. That boys are smelly. Your odds of getting a commiserating nod (except for the last, which might only work with the "Hello Kitty" demography) are high. But what if you were to say, "isn't life wonderful?" Suddenly you're just lucky and/or naïve. I think being happy and alone is hard to manage.
But possible, by the grace of God. I hope y'all are doing well (look at me, talkin' like a southerner); I am.
---------------------------------------------------
I'm working on a poetry anthology. Read and comment so I don't look like an idiot when I submit it!
See pictures of my apartment and of work. (Look for the album labeled "Apt #1614" and "Poker Room," respectively.)
View the FUN Archives.You can contact me by replying to this e-mail. To send letters or packages, use the following address:
Dan Kaschel
4747 W Waters Ave., Apt #1614
Tampa, FL 33614
My phone number is 813-313-6573.
Peace,
Dan
Wednesday, February 13, 2008
Friday, January 11, 2008
FUN Update, January 11, 2008 - Onward
Dear Friends,
It's been almost two months since you've heard from me. I thought of it many times, but not with the blend of motivation and inspiration that results in an update. News in my life is never very complicated, though, so let me give you the overview: my bike was stolen, I bought a new bike, I got run over by a car while on the bike (I'm fine), I fixed the bike, the bike got stolen, I went home for Christmas and had a great time, and I got a couple more shifts at work. So I'm basically in the same place as you last found me. I'm making more money (the extra shifts are brand new; my first extra shift was on Tuesday), but I don't have a bike so no doubt it will all be spent on the occasional necessity of taxi fares. Well, hopefully not all of it.
Oh, and I managed to get Sundays off, which is nice both because no buses run on Sundays (hence taxis both ways) and because I'd like to start going to church. I now work Friday, Saturday, Monday and Tuesday, with doubles on Monday and Tuesday. That's a promotion just in the sense of having more hours, but it also qualifies me for medical and dental benefits. I feel pretty good about the situation.
I've always figured that once the various problems in my life got sorted out--once I have enough money, once I get the girl, once I have a car (or get a new one that doesn't break), once I find a good community--that I would thrive. That I'd work toward an ideal situation, and that sooner or later I'd get there and do wonderful things. I guess that just goes to show how young I am.
See, the last year of my life has been pretty rough on me. I've lost a lot of confidence--mostly the confidence to which I had no right from the beginning. I've been broken enough times--that's a Christian term, I guess, but what I mean is that I have encountered situations that were simply beyond my capacity to handle--that I am no longer so eager to test my strength against the world. I have been isolated continually, deprived of the constant support of fellowship so that I always feel a little precarious. On top of that, God has systematically challenged every baseless belief and prejudice I have ever had--or if He hasn't, I'm sure whatever's left will be challenged soon. I hardly know up from down anymore.
I think the bottom line is that the money problems aren't going to stop; they'll change, but never stop. Relationships will never get less complicated, and I will never reach a point of perfect understanding. And since I've always wanted to do things with my life, I am left with one choice: to stop waiting; to move forward in spite of uncertainty and weakness.
Who knows, maybe I have it wrong, and in a year or so I'll send out an e-mail that says, "I have a perfect life! I have lots of money, I know what to do with it, my relationships are perfect, and I know everything!"
But probably not.
---------------------------------------------------
See pictures of my apartment and of work. (Look for the album labeled "Apt #1614" and "Poker Room," respectively.)
View the FUN Archives.You can contact me by replying to this e-mail. To send letters or packages, use the following address:
Dan Kaschel
4747 W Waters Ave., Apt #1614
Tampa, FL 33614
My phone number is 813-313-6573.
Peace,
Dan
It's been almost two months since you've heard from me. I thought of it many times, but not with the blend of motivation and inspiration that results in an update. News in my life is never very complicated, though, so let me give you the overview: my bike was stolen, I bought a new bike, I got run over by a car while on the bike (I'm fine), I fixed the bike, the bike got stolen, I went home for Christmas and had a great time, and I got a couple more shifts at work. So I'm basically in the same place as you last found me. I'm making more money (the extra shifts are brand new; my first extra shift was on Tuesday), but I don't have a bike so no doubt it will all be spent on the occasional necessity of taxi fares. Well, hopefully not all of it.
Oh, and I managed to get Sundays off, which is nice both because no buses run on Sundays (hence taxis both ways) and because I'd like to start going to church. I now work Friday, Saturday, Monday and Tuesday, with doubles on Monday and Tuesday. That's a promotion just in the sense of having more hours, but it also qualifies me for medical and dental benefits. I feel pretty good about the situation.
I've always figured that once the various problems in my life got sorted out--once I have enough money, once I get the girl, once I have a car (or get a new one that doesn't break), once I find a good community--that I would thrive. That I'd work toward an ideal situation, and that sooner or later I'd get there and do wonderful things. I guess that just goes to show how young I am.
See, the last year of my life has been pretty rough on me. I've lost a lot of confidence--mostly the confidence to which I had no right from the beginning. I've been broken enough times--that's a Christian term, I guess, but what I mean is that I have encountered situations that were simply beyond my capacity to handle--that I am no longer so eager to test my strength against the world. I have been isolated continually, deprived of the constant support of fellowship so that I always feel a little precarious. On top of that, God has systematically challenged every baseless belief and prejudice I have ever had--or if He hasn't, I'm sure whatever's left will be challenged soon. I hardly know up from down anymore.
I think the bottom line is that the money problems aren't going to stop; they'll change, but never stop. Relationships will never get less complicated, and I will never reach a point of perfect understanding. And since I've always wanted to do things with my life, I am left with one choice: to stop waiting; to move forward in spite of uncertainty and weakness.
Who knows, maybe I have it wrong, and in a year or so I'll send out an e-mail that says, "I have a perfect life! I have lots of money, I know what to do with it, my relationships are perfect, and I know everything!"
But probably not.
---------------------------------------------------
See pictures of my apartment and of work. (Look for the album labeled "Apt #1614" and "Poker Room," respectively.)
View the FUN Archives.You can contact me by replying to this e-mail. To send letters or packages, use the following address:
Dan Kaschel
4747 W Waters Ave., Apt #1614
Tampa, FL 33614
My phone number is 813-313-6573.
Peace,
Dan
Saturday, November 24, 2007
FUN Update, November 24 - My Thanksgiving
Dear Friends,
I just returned from a three-day trip to Las Vegas over Thanksgiving, where I climbed with a friend named Timo. The standard itinerary for such a trip--gamble, eat, gamble, sleep, repeat--was swapped for one that took place almost entirely outside of Las Vegas proper, and instead centered on Red Rocks, a large valley surrounded by a mountain range with some of the best rock climbing that the west has to offer. It was pretty amazing. I didn't take all that many pictures (I forgot my camera on the first day), but the ones I did take can be browsed here. This trip was exceptional in that I did a lot of things I'd never done before, learning them because if I didn't I would die. Literally.
On the first day, I was sport climbing a route for the first time--sport climbing is when bolts are drilled into the rock face so that you can attach the rope to it with a quickdraw--when I realized that, despite being twenty feet above the last bolt, there were obviously no more bolts. If I dropped, I would fall forty feet and probably kill myself; my only choice was to finish the last forty-ish feet of the route. The reason I was sport climbing in the first place, by the way, was because the route was too difficult for Timo, my partner, who has significantly more experience outdoors. I happened to have a piece of trad gear (short for "traditional" gear) attached to my harness, and so I stuck it in a crack, and, hey!, it stuck. So I clipped myself into that and braced myself for the last stretch (which contained no cracks, and hence no opportunities to place gear, even if I had more).
Obviously, I didn't die. But I will say this: I have a good head for heights, but making a move when you know a mistake will drop you sixty or seventy feet is a good deal harder than making a move in a rock climbing gym with an eight foot fall and thick mats. Anyways, that was day one. Day two was even more exciting.
I should have known things wouldn't go as planned when Timo and I completely botched the approach. Fifty minutes into the hike, we realized that our trail was taking us away from the Cat in the Hat, the route we wanted to do. The Cat in the Hat is a four-pitch climb, which means that it has four routes stacked on top of each other. One person leads a pitch, the other follows up, cleaning up the gear placed by the first, and then the next pitch is led, and so on. When the top is reached, each pitch is rappelled down. All in all, the Cat in the Hat is between four and five hundred feet of climbing.
We finally decided to hike across the rugged terrain to the start of the route, which essentially meant climbing up the huge boulders leading up to the face of the cliff. It was a lot less fun than it sounds with 150 pounds of gear between us. We finally reached the base, though, and ate a banana in celebration. It was in the low sixties and we were in the shadow of the mountain, so it was cold; still, we could see the sun hitting the mountain higher up, and we figured we would be warm once we got up high enough. Timo led the first pitch without incident, and I followed. The second went more or less smoothly, and the third as well. The only irksome detail was that the sun moved up the mountain faster than we climbed. Timo is a slow, methodical climber, and a long pitch took us well over an hour.
Three pitches and four hours into the climb, the troubles began--which was interesting, considering that we were feeling pretty good, having finally found the sun. It was a little after 2pm, and we had just run into another group of climbers that had started before us. I was to trad-lead the final pitch, the hardest of the four, so I had some fun getting together a full harness of gear, webbing, and carabiners. We waited a good hour for that group to make it up, which was frustrating because daylight only lasted until 5pm. In any case, I began the lead with a short traverse to the right, then headed up a crack. After just three or four pieces of protection, I felt the rope start to drag because of the way it was being pulled through the protection. At first it was hardly a problem--I've climbed with weights on my wrists and legs--but after eighty feet and eight pieces of gear, the rope started to feel really heavy. With every step, the rope got heavier, the gear-placing opportunities grew fewer, and the climb became more difficult. And I still had sixty feet to go.
Thirty feet from the top, I had to pause. The last opportunity to place was fifteen feet below, and there was nothing else in sight all the way to the top. The rope drag was around thirty pounds, and it felt like a hundred. The rock was slippery sandstone with sloped holds and sketchy feet. Suddenly, I had a pair of realizations almost simultaneously: firstly, that I couldn't do it. I couldn't make the moves I needed to with this kind of drag, knowing that, if I fell, paralysis would be an optimistic outcome. And secondly, that I didn't have any choice. There are still things I want to do in my life. The first realization was the least appealing, so I shoved it aside and latched on to the second. I breathed a prayer and began moving upward, willing my hand and feet not to slip off their holds.
I'm writing this e-mail, so obviously I made it to the top. I clipped into the anchor and belayed Timo up, all the while feeling grateful to be alive. By the time he made it up and we prepared to rappel down, the last dregs of sunlight were slipping behind the mountain. And I was freezing.
To our surprise and delight, we realized that our rope wasn't long enough to rappel down to the next anchor. Instead, we hooked up an intermediate anchor and rappelled down from there. I don't want to bore you with more details, but suffice it to say that the process of setting an anchor and rappelling two people down to the next takes about half an hour. By the time we hit the top of the third pitch, it was pretty near dark. We set up the next rappel as quickly as we could; this time, our rope was short by about twenty feet, but it was a reasonable down-climb. A few hundred feet up, sure, but not difficult. We had settled on down-climbing and were pulling our rope down when... our rope snagged. And for the life of us, we just could not get it un-stuck. So Timo and I were stuck on the side of the mountain completely unprotected, and with no rope. It was in the low fifties by this time, and my fingers were going numb. We shook and pulled the rope almost an hour before a pair of climbers saw our snag and unhooked it. Grateful, we down-climbed to the anchor and set up the next rappel. This time it was hardly a surprise when our rope turned out to be too short. Exhausting, cold to the bone, and generally frustrated, we joined the group above us and, using two ropes tied together, made it down to the bottom in another hour or so.
The grueling hike back, which took just under an hour, was also quite pleasant.
Timo and I packed our gear into the back, sat in our seats, and and started driving away. And suddenly I realized that I had a new reason to love rock climbing. I had an opportunity to face the nagging voice of "you can't do it," and came out on top. I was exhausted, miserable (did I mention that I had a head cold?), and sore, but almost deliriously happy. The kind of happy you only get when you feel you've earned it.
And that was my Thanksgiving. How was yours?
------------------------
See pictures of my apartment and of work. (Look for the album labeled "Apt #1614" and "Poker Room," respectively.)
View the FUN Archives.You can contact me by replying to this e-mail. To send letters or packages, use the following address:
Dan Kaschel
4747 W Waters Ave., Apt #1614
Tampa, FL 33614
My new phone number is 813-313-6573.
Peace,
Dan
I just returned from a three-day trip to Las Vegas over Thanksgiving, where I climbed with a friend named Timo. The standard itinerary for such a trip--gamble, eat, gamble, sleep, repeat--was swapped for one that took place almost entirely outside of Las Vegas proper, and instead centered on Red Rocks, a large valley surrounded by a mountain range with some of the best rock climbing that the west has to offer. It was pretty amazing. I didn't take all that many pictures (I forgot my camera on the first day), but the ones I did take can be browsed here. This trip was exceptional in that I did a lot of things I'd never done before, learning them because if I didn't I would die. Literally.
On the first day, I was sport climbing a route for the first time--sport climbing is when bolts are drilled into the rock face so that you can attach the rope to it with a quickdraw--when I realized that, despite being twenty feet above the last bolt, there were obviously no more bolts. If I dropped, I would fall forty feet and probably kill myself; my only choice was to finish the last forty-ish feet of the route. The reason I was sport climbing in the first place, by the way, was because the route was too difficult for Timo, my partner, who has significantly more experience outdoors. I happened to have a piece of trad gear (short for "traditional" gear) attached to my harness, and so I stuck it in a crack, and, hey!, it stuck. So I clipped myself into that and braced myself for the last stretch (which contained no cracks, and hence no opportunities to place gear, even if I had more).
Obviously, I didn't die. But I will say this: I have a good head for heights, but making a move when you know a mistake will drop you sixty or seventy feet is a good deal harder than making a move in a rock climbing gym with an eight foot fall and thick mats. Anyways, that was day one. Day two was even more exciting.
I should have known things wouldn't go as planned when Timo and I completely botched the approach. Fifty minutes into the hike, we realized that our trail was taking us away from the Cat in the Hat, the route we wanted to do. The Cat in the Hat is a four-pitch climb, which means that it has four routes stacked on top of each other. One person leads a pitch, the other follows up, cleaning up the gear placed by the first, and then the next pitch is led, and so on. When the top is reached, each pitch is rappelled down. All in all, the Cat in the Hat is between four and five hundred feet of climbing.
We finally decided to hike across the rugged terrain to the start of the route, which essentially meant climbing up the huge boulders leading up to the face of the cliff. It was a lot less fun than it sounds with 150 pounds of gear between us. We finally reached the base, though, and ate a banana in celebration. It was in the low sixties and we were in the shadow of the mountain, so it was cold; still, we could see the sun hitting the mountain higher up, and we figured we would be warm once we got up high enough. Timo led the first pitch without incident, and I followed. The second went more or less smoothly, and the third as well. The only irksome detail was that the sun moved up the mountain faster than we climbed. Timo is a slow, methodical climber, and a long pitch took us well over an hour.
Three pitches and four hours into the climb, the troubles began--which was interesting, considering that we were feeling pretty good, having finally found the sun. It was a little after 2pm, and we had just run into another group of climbers that had started before us. I was to trad-lead the final pitch, the hardest of the four, so I had some fun getting together a full harness of gear, webbing, and carabiners. We waited a good hour for that group to make it up, which was frustrating because daylight only lasted until 5pm. In any case, I began the lead with a short traverse to the right, then headed up a crack. After just three or four pieces of protection, I felt the rope start to drag because of the way it was being pulled through the protection. At first it was hardly a problem--I've climbed with weights on my wrists and legs--but after eighty feet and eight pieces of gear, the rope started to feel really heavy. With every step, the rope got heavier, the gear-placing opportunities grew fewer, and the climb became more difficult. And I still had sixty feet to go.
Thirty feet from the top, I had to pause. The last opportunity to place was fifteen feet below, and there was nothing else in sight all the way to the top. The rope drag was around thirty pounds, and it felt like a hundred. The rock was slippery sandstone with sloped holds and sketchy feet. Suddenly, I had a pair of realizations almost simultaneously: firstly, that I couldn't do it. I couldn't make the moves I needed to with this kind of drag, knowing that, if I fell, paralysis would be an optimistic outcome. And secondly, that I didn't have any choice. There are still things I want to do in my life. The first realization was the least appealing, so I shoved it aside and latched on to the second. I breathed a prayer and began moving upward, willing my hand and feet not to slip off their holds.
I'm writing this e-mail, so obviously I made it to the top. I clipped into the anchor and belayed Timo up, all the while feeling grateful to be alive. By the time he made it up and we prepared to rappel down, the last dregs of sunlight were slipping behind the mountain. And I was freezing.
To our surprise and delight, we realized that our rope wasn't long enough to rappel down to the next anchor. Instead, we hooked up an intermediate anchor and rappelled down from there. I don't want to bore you with more details, but suffice it to say that the process of setting an anchor and rappelling two people down to the next takes about half an hour. By the time we hit the top of the third pitch, it was pretty near dark. We set up the next rappel as quickly as we could; this time, our rope was short by about twenty feet, but it was a reasonable down-climb. A few hundred feet up, sure, but not difficult. We had settled on down-climbing and were pulling our rope down when... our rope snagged. And for the life of us, we just could not get it un-stuck. So Timo and I were stuck on the side of the mountain completely unprotected, and with no rope. It was in the low fifties by this time, and my fingers were going numb. We shook and pulled the rope almost an hour before a pair of climbers saw our snag and unhooked it. Grateful, we down-climbed to the anchor and set up the next rappel. This time it was hardly a surprise when our rope turned out to be too short. Exhausting, cold to the bone, and generally frustrated, we joined the group above us and, using two ropes tied together, made it down to the bottom in another hour or so.
The grueling hike back, which took just under an hour, was also quite pleasant.
Timo and I packed our gear into the back, sat in our seats, and and started driving away. And suddenly I realized that I had a new reason to love rock climbing. I had an opportunity to face the nagging voice of "you can't do it," and came out on top. I was exhausted, miserable (did I mention that I had a head cold?), and sore, but almost deliriously happy. The kind of happy you only get when you feel you've earned it.
And that was my Thanksgiving. How was yours?
------------------------
See pictures of my apartment and of work. (Look for the album labeled "Apt #1614" and "Poker Room," respectively.)
View the FUN Archives.You can contact me by replying to this e-mail. To send letters or packages, use the following address:
Dan Kaschel
4747 W Waters Ave., Apt #1614
Tampa, FL 33614
My new phone number is 813-313-6573.
Peace,
Dan
Thursday, November 1, 2007
FUN Update, November 1 - Rear Derailleurs: Revisited
Dear Friends,
Ever kept a journal? Ever been writing and accidentally skipped a page? Well... oops. Accidentally skipped a month. But now I'm back for the lovely month of November to remind you that I'm alive. All sorts of fun things are happening, not least of which is my birthday next Tuesday. Big 21--time flies.
I had a cool experience yesterday. I just bought a new bike because my Mongoose had no brakes, a broken front wheel, and a flat back wheel. The new bike is quite a bit nicer than the older one, but it was in bad repair. The rear tire was flat, the seat post and handlebars were rusted into the lowest position so that only a midget could ride comfortably, and the rear dérailleur--there it is again!--was bent out of shape so much that it would catch in the wheel spokes in first or second gear. But it was the only bike that looked like it was in decent shape, so I bought it and took it to the bicycle repair shop to see what could be done.
"Sorry," said some college-age punk who worked there, "looks like the post is seized in there; you'd need to buy a new post, buy this and that, and do somersaults in lava." Or something like that. Basically, he told me it was cost a couple hundred to repair it, and that I should take the bike back. A thirty-something guy standing behind the counter occasionally threw in quips about pawn shops, which wasn't really helping. I knew I didn't have the money to buy another bike, and pawn shop bikes are sold as-is, so I told them to replace the tube on the back tire. Here, the thirty-something guy jumped in.
"Looks like the seat post is...backwards." And sure enough, it was. So he took off the seat and we tried to twist the post. No luck. Then he pulled out the biggest wrench I've ever seen in my life. It was over two feet long and must have weight almost ten pounds. He put as much leverage as he could behind the wrench and pushed on the handle with two people to keep the bike in place. The post moved about a millimeter. College-age punk guy, thirty-something guy, and I worked for about ten minutes on this post until finally we could tap on it with a hammer to get it out. It looked like it had been rusting since the eighteen hundreds. They put some grease on it, stuck it back on (the right way, this time), and reattached the seat. One problem down, ten to go.
The handlebars were easier, but only some what so. Before long it was good as new. They went in to replace the tube in the back tire and meanwhile poked and prodded at the rear dérailleur. They tightened this, loosed that, and used all sorts of weird tools to get the body back in shape. Within fifteen minutes the bike was shifting like a charm. Both tires use a bizarre inflation mechanism, so I asked them to bring the front tire to the right pressure, too. It took them all of twenty seconds.
My bike was fully functional. I was thrilled. But I was also broke, and rent was about to be due, and I was really dreading that bill. He rang up everything and handed me a bill for... $11.76. $5.49 for the tube, $5.50 for labor, plus tax. I asked thirty-something guy if I could tip them, and he smiled and said no. Happy to be of service and all that. There are few things more touching than the kindness of strangers. I even thought well of college-age punk guy, as I walked out.
The End.
Also: a German engineer who went with me on my climbing trip asked if I would come with him to Red Rock, Nevada on another trip over Thanksgiving weekend. He travels a lot for work, so he said he could cover airfare and hotels, which means all I would have to pay for is half the rental car cost. He also owns all the gear we'd need, so we wouldn't have to rent. So. That's an awesome opportunity that I have coming up soon.
For the moment, my life is going pretty well. Money is really tight right now, but when isn't it? So. That's my life as it stands. Hopefully my next update won't take another month to write. God bless you all.
------------------------
See pictures of my new apartment and of work. (Look for the album labeled "Apt #1614" and "Poker Room," respectively.)
View the FUN Archives.You can contact me by replying to this e-mail. To send letters or packages, use the following address:
Dan Kaschel
4747 W Waters Ave., Apt #1614
Tampa, FL 33614
My new phone number is 813-313-6573.
Peace,
Dan
Ever kept a journal? Ever been writing and accidentally skipped a page? Well... oops. Accidentally skipped a month. But now I'm back for the lovely month of November to remind you that I'm alive. All sorts of fun things are happening, not least of which is my birthday next Tuesday. Big 21--time flies.
I had a cool experience yesterday. I just bought a new bike because my Mongoose had no brakes, a broken front wheel, and a flat back wheel. The new bike is quite a bit nicer than the older one, but it was in bad repair. The rear tire was flat, the seat post and handlebars were rusted into the lowest position so that only a midget could ride comfortably, and the rear dérailleur--there it is again!--was bent out of shape so much that it would catch in the wheel spokes in first or second gear. But it was the only bike that looked like it was in decent shape, so I bought it and took it to the bicycle repair shop to see what could be done.
"Sorry," said some college-age punk who worked there, "looks like the post is seized in there; you'd need to buy a new post, buy this and that, and do somersaults in lava." Or something like that. Basically, he told me it was cost a couple hundred to repair it, and that I should take the bike back. A thirty-something guy standing behind the counter occasionally threw in quips about pawn shops, which wasn't really helping. I knew I didn't have the money to buy another bike, and pawn shop bikes are sold as-is, so I told them to replace the tube on the back tire. Here, the thirty-something guy jumped in.
"Looks like the seat post is...backwards." And sure enough, it was. So he took off the seat and we tried to twist the post. No luck. Then he pulled out the biggest wrench I've ever seen in my life. It was over two feet long and must have weight almost ten pounds. He put as much leverage as he could behind the wrench and pushed on the handle with two people to keep the bike in place. The post moved about a millimeter. College-age punk guy, thirty-something guy, and I worked for about ten minutes on this post until finally we could tap on it with a hammer to get it out. It looked like it had been rusting since the eighteen hundreds. They put some grease on it, stuck it back on (the right way, this time), and reattached the seat. One problem down, ten to go.
The handlebars were easier, but only some what so. Before long it was good as new. They went in to replace the tube in the back tire and meanwhile poked and prodded at the rear dérailleur. They tightened this, loosed that, and used all sorts of weird tools to get the body back in shape. Within fifteen minutes the bike was shifting like a charm. Both tires use a bizarre inflation mechanism, so I asked them to bring the front tire to the right pressure, too. It took them all of twenty seconds.
My bike was fully functional. I was thrilled. But I was also broke, and rent was about to be due, and I was really dreading that bill. He rang up everything and handed me a bill for... $11.76. $5.49 for the tube, $5.50 for labor, plus tax. I asked thirty-something guy if I could tip them, and he smiled and said no. Happy to be of service and all that. There are few things more touching than the kindness of strangers. I even thought well of college-age punk guy, as I walked out.
The End.
Also: a German engineer who went with me on my climbing trip asked if I would come with him to Red Rock, Nevada on another trip over Thanksgiving weekend. He travels a lot for work, so he said he could cover airfare and hotels, which means all I would have to pay for is half the rental car cost. He also owns all the gear we'd need, so we wouldn't have to rent. So. That's an awesome opportunity that I have coming up soon.
For the moment, my life is going pretty well. Money is really tight right now, but when isn't it? So. That's my life as it stands. Hopefully my next update won't take another month to write. God bless you all.
------------------------
See pictures of my new apartment and of work. (Look for the album labeled "Apt #1614" and "Poker Room," respectively.)
View the FUN Archives.You can contact me by replying to this e-mail. To send letters or packages, use the following address:
Dan Kaschel
4747 W Waters Ave., Apt #1614
Tampa, FL 33614
My new phone number is 813-313-6573.
Peace,
Dan
Friday, September 28, 2007
FUN Update, September 28, 2007 - Brevity
Dear Friends,
One or two of you may have noticed that I dropped off the face of the earth for a while. I've been a little antisocial over the last few weeks because of some unresolved conflict that I had with a friend. But it is resolved now--for the better, I hope--and so here I am to report on my life.
It continually amazes me how little can happen in a month. I'm basically in precisely the same place that I was a month ago, except that...
I spent a few minutes trying to think of something different, and couldn't. That's my life right now, predictable as an atomic clock. I work and go rock climbing. For the moment, I am willing to accept that no news is good news and hang tight. After a few months, though, I might go stir crazy and pray for some cataclysm to spice up my life. For the moment, the only thing I have is a climbing trip that I'll be going on in a couple weeks. I'm going up to Chattanooga, TN to do some top-roping and bouldering. It's not cheap, but I really need a change of pace, if only for a few days.
Incidentally, my tentative plan is to fly to Michigan for Christmas for about a week. If I were to guess at the dates, I'd say December 20th to 27th.
That's it. Hope you're all well. If your life has been interesting recently, jot me a note and fill me in. God bless,
Dan
One or two of you may have noticed that I dropped off the face of the earth for a while. I've been a little antisocial over the last few weeks because of some unresolved conflict that I had with a friend. But it is resolved now--for the better, I hope--and so here I am to report on my life.
It continually amazes me how little can happen in a month. I'm basically in precisely the same place that I was a month ago, except that...
I spent a few minutes trying to think of something different, and couldn't. That's my life right now, predictable as an atomic clock. I work and go rock climbing. For the moment, I am willing to accept that no news is good news and hang tight. After a few months, though, I might go stir crazy and pray for some cataclysm to spice up my life. For the moment, the only thing I have is a climbing trip that I'll be going on in a couple weeks. I'm going up to Chattanooga, TN to do some top-roping and bouldering. It's not cheap, but I really need a change of pace, if only for a few days.
Incidentally, my tentative plan is to fly to Michigan for Christmas for about a week. If I were to guess at the dates, I'd say December 20th to 27th.
That's it. Hope you're all well. If your life has been interesting recently, jot me a note and fill me in. God bless,
Dan
Friday, August 24, 2007
FUN Update, August 24, 2007 - Of Socks and Derailleurs
Step 1: Figure out the name of whatever piece of metal fell off my bike.
It was... complicated. It had springs and hinges and wheels. It looked really... important. I had this funny feeling that a Google search for "complicated springs hinges wheels important" wouldn't be terribly helpful, so instead I went to Google images to look at bike diagrams until I finally found out the name.
Step 2: Figure out what a "rear derailleur" does.
Easy as Wikipedia. I skimmed the article (understanding about 10%) and verified that the picture looked something like what I had. Score. Apparently, it... actually, I'm still not quite sure what it does. Except that it keeps tension on the chain. So... that's important, I guess.
Step 3: Find out how it attaches to the rest of the bike.
Bikes have holes all over them, so after work the next day I stopped by the pawn shop a block away to look at some bicycles. What do you know, they all had those thingamajigs too! It seemed to fit between the thing that held the gears on and the other screwy thing with the... thing. Thankfully, it was a visual errand, so the fact that my vocabulary is grossly ineffective when it comes to bicycle repair wasn't too much of an inconvenience.
Step 4: Try to attach it without getting bicycle grease all over.
I don't have socks anymore. I lost most of them in various places, so now I have a few black pairs for work and a single white sock. The single white sock wasn't much use, so I decided to use it as a glove. It is now a black sock too, though not one I would wear in public. I worked on reattaching it for about half an hour until I finally gave up because I couldn't get the chain to move anymore even though I thought it was on correctly. Irritated, I pulled hard. The back wheel moved. It suddenly occurred to me that the bike might be properly in gear.
Step 5: Test the bike.
Sure, the logical thing to do would have been to lift up the back tire and push a pedal. I was inside, after all. Instead, I picked up the whole bike and carried it outside wearing nothing but my pajama pants. Then I hopped on and rode it around for a minute or two. Strangely, the gear shifting is actually more responsive now than it was before. One of the brakes is slightly misaligned, but that won't be difficult to adjust. As long as I never have to touch another rear derailleur.
P.S. My neighbor must have thought I was drunk when I wobbled around half-naked on my bicycle and then stumbled back into my apartment. Oh well. Doesn't hurt to keep things interesting.
----------------------------
Dear Friends,
I fixed my bike. I'd tell the story, but it's long and boring and I wouldn't want to waste your time. It was exciting, though, because I don't have money to get it fixed and I know nothing about bikes, so instead I just prayed that God would help me fix it and got to work. And now my bike works again.
I still have a job. The cuts happened as scheduled, and I'm still there. That's a relief. I celebrated by getting all my blue microfiber shirts dry cleaned. I imagine that dry cleaning could be addictive much like self-medicating. I mean, you know the clothes don't really need to be dry cleaned again, but there's a little wrinkle in the back and they're so nice and pretty when they get back... and after all, it's supposed to be good, right? Cleaning is good. Maybe I'll dry clean my entire closet...
The financial news is looking optimistic for the first time in a while. It looks like I'll be able to afford rent come September 1st. I plan on spending September getting rid of some debt I've accumulated. It shouldn't take long. After that... well, maybe a car is in my future. Who can say?
And that's the news for now. Hope everyone is well.
-------------------------------------
See pictures of my new apartment and of work. (Look for the album labeled "Apt #1614" and "Poker Room," respectively.)
View the FUN Archives.You can contact me by replying to this e-mail. To send letters or packages, use the following address:
Dan Kaschel
4747 W Waters Ave., Apt #1614
Tampa, FL 33614
My phone number is 231-631-3016.
Peace,
Dan
It was... complicated. It had springs and hinges and wheels. It looked really... important. I had this funny feeling that a Google search for "complicated springs hinges wheels important" wouldn't be terribly helpful, so instead I went to Google images to look at bike diagrams until I finally found out the name.
Step 2: Figure out what a "rear derailleur" does.
Easy as Wikipedia. I skimmed the article (understanding about 10%) and verified that the picture looked something like what I had. Score. Apparently, it... actually, I'm still not quite sure what it does. Except that it keeps tension on the chain. So... that's important, I guess.
Step 3: Find out how it attaches to the rest of the bike.
Bikes have holes all over them, so after work the next day I stopped by the pawn shop a block away to look at some bicycles. What do you know, they all had those thingamajigs too! It seemed to fit between the thing that held the gears on and the other screwy thing with the... thing. Thankfully, it was a visual errand, so the fact that my vocabulary is grossly ineffective when it comes to bicycle repair wasn't too much of an inconvenience.
Step 4: Try to attach it without getting bicycle grease all over.
I don't have socks anymore. I lost most of them in various places, so now I have a few black pairs for work and a single white sock. The single white sock wasn't much use, so I decided to use it as a glove. It is now a black sock too, though not one I would wear in public. I worked on reattaching it for about half an hour until I finally gave up because I couldn't get the chain to move anymore even though I thought it was on correctly. Irritated, I pulled hard. The back wheel moved. It suddenly occurred to me that the bike might be properly in gear.
Step 5: Test the bike.
Sure, the logical thing to do would have been to lift up the back tire and push a pedal. I was inside, after all. Instead, I picked up the whole bike and carried it outside wearing nothing but my pajama pants. Then I hopped on and rode it around for a minute or two. Strangely, the gear shifting is actually more responsive now than it was before. One of the brakes is slightly misaligned, but that won't be difficult to adjust. As long as I never have to touch another rear derailleur.
P.S. My neighbor must have thought I was drunk when I wobbled around half-naked on my bicycle and then stumbled back into my apartment. Oh well. Doesn't hurt to keep things interesting.
----------------------------
Dear Friends,
I fixed my bike. I'd tell the story, but it's long and boring and I wouldn't want to waste your time. It was exciting, though, because I don't have money to get it fixed and I know nothing about bikes, so instead I just prayed that God would help me fix it and got to work. And now my bike works again.
I still have a job. The cuts happened as scheduled, and I'm still there. That's a relief. I celebrated by getting all my blue microfiber shirts dry cleaned. I imagine that dry cleaning could be addictive much like self-medicating. I mean, you know the clothes don't really need to be dry cleaned again, but there's a little wrinkle in the back and they're so nice and pretty when they get back... and after all, it's supposed to be good, right? Cleaning is good. Maybe I'll dry clean my entire closet...
The financial news is looking optimistic for the first time in a while. It looks like I'll be able to afford rent come September 1st. I plan on spending September getting rid of some debt I've accumulated. It shouldn't take long. After that... well, maybe a car is in my future. Who can say?
And that's the news for now. Hope everyone is well.
-------------------------------------
See pictures of my new apartment and of work. (Look for the album labeled "Apt #1614" and "Poker Room," respectively.)
View the FUN Archives.You can contact me by replying to this e-mail. To send letters or packages, use the following address:
Dan Kaschel
4747 W Waters Ave., Apt #1614
Tampa, FL 33614
My phone number is 231-631-3016.
Peace,
Dan
Sunday, August 12, 2007
FUN Update, August 12, 2007 - My Life Gets Interesting Again
Dear Friends,
Finally, something has happened to me that merits the telling! So here I am.
The Greyhound Track where I work has stopped live racing because it is "hemorrhaging money." They'll keep satellite betting (betting on off-site dog and horse races), but the upshot is that the whole facility is drastically downsizing. That goes for the overstaffed poker room, of course. A week from Monday, 25 out of 55 dealers will be dropped based on performance over the next week. If I don't make it, I'll be jobless. The bright side is that if I make it, I'll get more shifts and hence make more money.
My urge is to focus single-mindedly on being the best poker dealer that I can be, ignoring everything until the decision has been made. I realize, however, that doing things in my own strength really isn't the way to go--especially having the connections that I do. So I'm going to pray, and I'm going to do everything in Godly excellence as I have always done. When Jesus was about to be crucified under Pilate, Pilate said to Jesus, "Do you not know that I have authority to release you, and I have authority to crucify you?" Jesus' reply was, "You would have no authority over me, unless it had been given you from above." In the same way, I trust that my authorities are subject to God's will.
I guess it's about time to mention my awful timing and how God's strength is evident in my weakness.
I lost my dealing license and badge over the last week. I have no idea where it went. I searched my apartment in a panic, but there aren't that many places that it could be. I'm pretty sure it's gone for good. I went to work expecting to be sent home and, furthermore, not to be able to work for the weekend (it's illegal to deal without a license). And then... God came through for me. I went to the break room at about 11:30AM after calling around to find out where the State Rep was--that's the person who can print me a new license. They were at Derby Lane, another greyhound track in St. Petersburg, which is about 35 minutes away. Unfortunately, buses don't cross towns, so I'd have to take a taxi. Which would mean about $100 for the round trip. At this point, I was thinking maybe I could just borrow somebody's car and offer to fill up their gas tank, but I hate asking favors like that.
Jodi--the manager--just happened to be in the break room while I was explaining the situation to the other dealers. This was unusual in itself, since the supervisors and managers usually don't hang out in the staff break room. Anyways, he heard the story, and told me to wait around while he went upstairs. I agreed, because... well, because I'd agree to anything legal to keep my job. He then proceeded to offer to drive me to Derby Lane himself so I could get my license.
Just to clarify: the second-in-charge of our poker room drove over an hour so I could get a license and deal the second half of the day. That's like getting Gabriel to do your laundry. I was floored. As an added bonus: I remember a book I read about social engineering that said most people don't want to ask or accept favors because they don't want to "use up" whatever theoretical store of favors they have with that person. But statistically, a person is more likely to grant a favor if they've granted that same person a favor in the past. I think it's because granting a favor means investing something of yourself in a person, which means increasing that person's value to you, which in turn makes you more likely to protect that investment. It's a cycle that can be either good or bad; in this particular case, it may benefit me.
So I lost my license. I can hardly explain how bad that is. It's reallybad. And instead of totally screwing me over, it might have just played in my favor. "If God is for me, who can be against me?" In conclusion, pray that I have the strength to model Christ-like behavior despite the stress of the coming week. I hope you're all doing wonderfully. Don't forget to keep me updated! Take care,
-------------------------------------
See pictures of my new apartment and of work. (Look for the album labeled "Apt #1614" and "Poker Room," respectively.)
View the FUN Archives.You can contact me by replying to this e-mail. To send letters or packages, use the following address:
Dan Kaschel
4747 W Waters Ave., Apt #1614
Tampa, FL 33614
My phone number is 231-631-3016.
Peace,
Dan
Finally, something has happened to me that merits the telling! So here I am.
The Greyhound Track where I work has stopped live racing because it is "hemorrhaging money." They'll keep satellite betting (betting on off-site dog and horse races), but the upshot is that the whole facility is drastically downsizing. That goes for the overstaffed poker room, of course. A week from Monday, 25 out of 55 dealers will be dropped based on performance over the next week. If I don't make it, I'll be jobless. The bright side is that if I make it, I'll get more shifts and hence make more money.
My urge is to focus single-mindedly on being the best poker dealer that I can be, ignoring everything until the decision has been made. I realize, however, that doing things in my own strength really isn't the way to go--especially having the connections that I do. So I'm going to pray, and I'm going to do everything in Godly excellence as I have always done. When Jesus was about to be crucified under Pilate, Pilate said to Jesus, "Do you not know that I have authority to release you, and I have authority to crucify you?" Jesus' reply was, "You would have no authority over me, unless it had been given you from above." In the same way, I trust that my authorities are subject to God's will.
I guess it's about time to mention my awful timing and how God's strength is evident in my weakness.
I lost my dealing license and badge over the last week. I have no idea where it went. I searched my apartment in a panic, but there aren't that many places that it could be. I'm pretty sure it's gone for good. I went to work expecting to be sent home and, furthermore, not to be able to work for the weekend (it's illegal to deal without a license). And then... God came through for me. I went to the break room at about 11:30AM after calling around to find out where the State Rep was--that's the person who can print me a new license. They were at Derby Lane, another greyhound track in St. Petersburg, which is about 35 minutes away. Unfortunately, buses don't cross towns, so I'd have to take a taxi. Which would mean about $100 for the round trip. At this point, I was thinking maybe I could just borrow somebody's car and offer to fill up their gas tank, but I hate asking favors like that.
Jodi--the manager--just happened to be in the break room while I was explaining the situation to the other dealers. This was unusual in itself, since the supervisors and managers usually don't hang out in the staff break room. Anyways, he heard the story, and told me to wait around while he went upstairs. I agreed, because... well, because I'd agree to anything legal to keep my job. He then proceeded to offer to drive me to Derby Lane himself so I could get my license.
Just to clarify: the second-in-charge of our poker room drove over an hour so I could get a license and deal the second half of the day. That's like getting Gabriel to do your laundry. I was floored. As an added bonus: I remember a book I read about social engineering that said most people don't want to ask or accept favors because they don't want to "use up" whatever theoretical store of favors they have with that person. But statistically, a person is more likely to grant a favor if they've granted that same person a favor in the past. I think it's because granting a favor means investing something of yourself in a person, which means increasing that person's value to you, which in turn makes you more likely to protect that investment. It's a cycle that can be either good or bad; in this particular case, it may benefit me.
So I lost my license. I can hardly explain how bad that is. It's reallybad. And instead of totally screwing me over, it might have just played in my favor. "If God is for me, who can be against me?" In conclusion, pray that I have the strength to model Christ-like behavior despite the stress of the coming week. I hope you're all doing wonderfully. Don't forget to keep me updated! Take care,
-------------------------------------
See pictures of my new apartment and of work. (Look for the album labeled "Apt #1614" and "Poker Room," respectively.)
View the FUN Archives.You can contact me by replying to this e-mail. To send letters or packages, use the following address:
Dan Kaschel
4747 W Waters Ave., Apt #1614
Tampa, FL 33614
My phone number is 231-631-3016.
Peace,
Dan
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