Tuesday, October 28, 2008

A Return to Our (blogging) Roots

Following a 3+ year Hiatus, three members of Taconite Country Paintball, plus our friend Brandon, dared to fire up the markers and venture out on the field again.

The Colonel found the following truths to be self evident:

1. It was too cold.

2. The Colonel stinks at Speedball. The following is a true conversation that occurred behind a bunker:

Small Wirey Player in a Bright Red Speedball Jersey: "Get Down! GET DOWN!"

C. Havoc: "Uh...I'm OLD. This is as "Down" as I get."

Half-frozen Paintball (Hitting the Colonel in the mask): SPLATTT!

Small Wirey Player: I Told you so.

3. The Colonel's friend, Brandon, is a GREAT Speedball Player. My shoulder still hurts.

4. TCP was actually pretty good while it lasted. The Colonel and Sons owe a debt of gratitude to Major Pain, General Gibby, Captain Paintburner, the Double Downs, young Lt. Frotsgner, and, of course, The Sarge, for challenging us and teaching the nuances of the woodland game. When the focus shifted into the trees, the carnage really began. By our count, Team Taconite (Col. Havoc & Sons, Brandon, and another camo-guy named Jason) had more than 25 kills without an elimination.

The first player I took out was Small Wirey Red-Jerseyed Guy.

Note: HUGE Plug for Devotion Paintball in Bemidji, Minnesota. They are a first class operation, run by great people, and their End-of-the-Season Bash was a rousing success.

Saturday, October 18, 2008

Dishwasher 2: The Saga Continues

The wedding reception was scheduled for 5:30 pm. The clock in the kitchen read 5:01.

"Hey!" The Colonel was excited, "I have time to work on the dishwasher."

Knowing that her earlier diagnosis (pump) had been incorrect, the Blond had no choice but to watch helplessly as I crawled around behind the mystery machine, grunting epithets reminiscent of Darrin McGavin in "A Christmas Story".

"Eureka!" I emerged from my alcove presenting a dirty, snake like tube to her.

"See? See?" I effused, "The drain tube had a leak! It was dripping back into the bottom pan, triggering the micro-switch on the float, signaling an overflow fault!"

The Blond, standing there in a brand new dress she had purchased for the express purpose of not arriving late to this wedding, was not impressed.

"No, look!" The Colonel's enthusiasm was unabated, "There are little holes in the tube!"

To demonstrate, I blew in the tube.
True to form, the water blew out of offending holes.

Right at her new dress.

"You Moron." The Blond said.

We were still on time for the reception, which the Colonel left half-way through to purchase a new drain hose.

Tuesday, October 14, 2008

Of Machines and Morons

The Blond's instructions were clear.

"Hey, do you think you might fix the dishwasher today?"

Translation: "If I have to wash one more plate by hand, you'll be eating lasagna through a straw."

She even channeled her inner mechanic with this bit of wisdom, "I think it's either the pump or the motor."

"Uh, yeah thanks, adult female, I think I can handle the diagnostic side of things."

So, once she had left to go earn a living, I proceeded to dismantle the beast.

Having ripped the puzzling device down to its basic molecular structure, I decided to test it.

Unfortunately, ripping it apart also included taking the drain line off. (Note the loose hose and bucket full of water.)

Domestic Hydration Control completed, I dove further into the mysterious device.

When all was said and done, I came to the inescapable conclusion that the underlining problem with the dishwasher was...

The Pump AND the Motor. Ha-ha! She thought it was the pump OR the motor. Take that, Blond! They are actually the same part!

At least, they were the same part. I quickly ordered another one.

I hope she was right, 'cause there is no way this one is ever going back together.