Those of you who know me well know that I have a thing for Porsches. I like reading about them, I like going to the dealerships, and I like buying things with the crest. I’ve been to the Porsche headquarters in Stuttgart. I had the privilege to tour the factory (getting on the tour, especially without reservations, was a bit of a coup). I’ve had the pleasure of driving a Porsche on several occasions, too. By all measures, I’m a fanatic. There’s just one minor piece of this scene that’s missing:

I don’t own one… yet.

Fortunately, the solution to that problem is rather straightforward: buy one! Of course, that involves a lot of searching newspapers and browsing the web. Invariably, that eventually leads to the Porsche web site. Mmmm…

There, on the site, you can build your own Porsche (but avert your eyes from the price). You can order Porsche-branded merchandise. You can even get the specs on the latest Porsche bicycles (really!). A new feature, in fact the one that prompted this post, is to watch a series of films about the new 911: the type 997.

The main film is what really made me smile. Sure, the acting is a little stiff, but they hit the nail right on the head. I think that the boy in the film shares a parallel mindset with myself. Towards the end, the narrator says the following lines:

“It’s a funny thing about a Porsche. There’s the moment you know you want one, there’s the moment you first own one, and for the truly afflicted, there’s the decade or two that passes in between.”So true. I’ve wanted one for roughly a decade now, so maybe the time will be soon. The only big problem preventing such an acquisition is that I don’t have a place to put it. Maybe that will change in the near term as well…I’ll give you one more example of my fanaticism before finishing this post. While in Stuttgart at Porsche, I felt obligated to look in the Porsche gift shop. Inside, I found one of the neatest, most eccentric Porsche souvenirs ever. I found a children’s book about a Porsche tractor! In German! Which I don’t speak! And I bought it! Woo!!! It’s obvious from looking through the book that the author loves his Porsche tractor. From the drawings, it also appears that the world has never seen a happier Porsche tractor. It’s smiling on every page except for when it hits a tree. It’s kinda sad in that one. I can’t blame it, though. I’d be happy being a Porsche too, so long as I wasn’t driven into a freak’n apple tree.

For an idea of what a real Porsche tractor looks like, glance at this eBay auction. For a collection of absolutely brilliant Porsche writing, I highly recommend Porsching, particularly the “When You Wish Upon a Star” series. Good entertainment — maybe even for a non-Porschephile!

Go on, watch the movie. It will stream for you, or, if you have a high-speed connection, you can download it(38MB, zipped QT).

This evening, I went to a meeting of the local chapter of INCOSE, basically the professional organization for systems engineers. The meeting was held at my company’s headquarters, but the attendants were from all over the Twin Cities — even from our traditional rival. The main purpose of the meeting was to provide a forum for a presentation by one of my company’s Human Factors professionals.

The guy, a PhD psychologist, started the presentation with a slide showing an indeterminate object. It harkened of a Rorschach “ink blot,” but was not of that group (incidentally, follow that link; it might be handy someday). The presenter asked us in the audience what we thought the blob was. I looked at it for a few seconds before I saw a figure emerge. What I perceived made me chuckle: I saw a Klingon Bird of Prey! I kept that to myself, but it didn’t matter; a few seconds later, one of the other attendees shouted out “It’s a Bird of Prey!” The room shared a good laugh. No doubt many others in attendance saw the same. It turned out that the blob was really an off-angle view of Popeye. If any doubt had been left in my mind, that incident would have proved that I was in a room with a bunch of engineers.

Speaking of which, I am lucky to be working in a company stuffed with smart people. Damn smart people. I was lucky to go through high school and college with many smart people, so it’s great that I can begin my career surrounded by intelligence. Even more important than raw IQ, these people (and indeed, nearly everybody I associated with in school) are personable, sociable, creative, and upbeat. I hope to learn and improve myself by working in such an environment.

In my life thus far, I’ve been fortunate to have been shielded for the most part from the pain of friends and family dying. In fact, before yesterday morning, no family member that I had ever known had died. Yes, many of my ancestors are no longer here, but I never knew them.

I’m 22. For me and many my age, life seems like it will last forever. More than that, it seems that I will be young forever. Now I’m not actually naive enough to think that this perception will match reality, but I have it nonetheless. I suppose that’s why the young seem to enjoy risk more than the old – no matter what we do, we don’t think that there will be any serious consequences.

Still, I know that everything has an end. Countries rise and fall, business wax and wane. What was popular yesterday will not be so tomorrow. Life is no different: creatures are born and eventually die.

But what consoles me is that in death there is new life. Without death, there would be no room for new life.

I hope that everybody I know and love — my family, my friends, my dogs — will be around for a very long time. More than that, though, I hope that I will take advantage of the time I have with them to make good memories. I hope, too, that I never forget.

Remind someone that you love them, make a quality memory with a friend, or spend a hour playing with your dog. You never know when a phone call will wake you up one morning to tell you that you’ll never again have that opportunity.

In memory of my Great-Grandmother
Irene S. Shafer
1903-2004

Well, the photos from my trip to Europe this summer are finally posted. Check them out at the gallery.

I haven’t decided yet if I’m going to post stories from my trip on this web site. If I tell all the good stories here, it makes for limited conversation when I meet up with all of you in person. Still contemplating this…

I took several videos during the trip, but two really stand out. The first one is from a mountain near Lauterburnnen, Switzerland. While hiking along, we ran into a herd of cattle and enjoyed their melodious bells (featured on the video). The second video is from Pamplona. While we were standing in line to get at our luggage (an all-too-common occurance), a marching band in mini-parade form passed right in front of us! Yes, this is the same type of parade that Webb mentions in his “European Ramblings” post.

I really need to get used to this work thing. Ug, so tired. However, I am enjoying work at The Company^tm so far!

A couple days ago, I moved from my small quaint hometown to the bustling metropolis of St. Paul. Well, okay, Maple Grove isn’t exactly small (50,000 people) or quaint (it’s a fast-growing second-ring suburb of Minneapolis) anymore. In fact, I’m not sure it’s ever been. And to be fair, St. Paul isn’t exactly bustling these days despite being the state capital. Not that St. Paul is deserted. Far from it. Rather, it’s the quiet, mature sibling of the Twin Cities pair.

The move came about because Mutak was renting a room, and I needed a room to rent. The stars shined on the deal, and soon I found myself renting a room from Mutak.

To move my stuff, I needed a few things: Boxes? Check. Either I went dumpster diving a grocery store, or I “borrowed” some boxes from other people, but whatever my super-secret method, I had ample quantities of boxes. People? Check. Tyler graciously volunteered to help me, and Mutak and Jimmers were both at the ready at Mutak’s place. Booze? Whoa, settle down there tiger. Not until *after* the move. Lots of driving, you know. Vehicles? Ah yes, the reason for the Booze Ban, or BB as I like to call it. They also happen to be an excellent manner in which to transport said several boxes. Tyler offered his truck, which meant I needed one more for myself.

As luck would have it, there’s a truck floating around in my family. I admit, it was a bit freaky the first time I saw this huge hovering Chevy carousing around the house, but that’s just the sort of thing one gets used to. Great! So now I had access to a big ol’ American 4×4.

Or did I?

No, no I didn’t. For you see, while I was crafting my detailed moving war plan, my sister, unbeknownst to me, claimed the truck for the weekend. D’oh! We were at an impasse. I dug in, with Herbert Cohen (in book form!) as my aide. After tense negotiations (“Can I use the truck on Sunday?” “Ok”) the matter was resolved and the only thing separating me from moving triumph was time itself.

I think that time was dropping X because before I knew it, Sunday run up behind me and plowed me over. Wow, days of the week sure have inertia. Or maybe just bad brakes. Or maybe the day itself had a little too much fun on Saturday night and just had terrible reaction time. Whatever the reason, Sunday apologized and backed up to the morning so that I could continue as planned.

Sunday morning, I drove to my sister’s place of work and traded her my Bonneville for the Chevrolet.

I drove back and did the move with the entire aforementioned group helping out.

(What were you expecting, a play-by-play of the move? Nah.)

The move complete, I traded back the truck for my sedan.

When I drove off in the Bonne, I noticed that something wasn’t right. It wasn’t just that there was a back seat or that members of the U.S. Olympic Women’s Volleyball Team occupied said back seat. No, that sort of thing happens every day. Well, not really. Usually the front seat too. But I digress.

What was strange was the way the Bonne’s 3800-series V6 engine was vibrating. Okay, so I acknowledge that my car can get a little bit bouncy at high speeds. But this was completely different. These symptoms were similar to a single-cylinder misfire, but not quite as severe. Frustrating, indeed, but a cursory check revealed nothing and I needed to get to work the next day. As the car was still drivable, I left the mystery for a future problem.



I admit that I wanted to blame my sister for whatever ailed my red automobile. The problem is that I had no rational reason to blame her. There was a time when that little logical fallacy wouldn’t have mattered, but, I dunno, I guess I’ve matured past that puerile state.

Down, but not out, I trudged on, jittery car and all.

Today during my lunch hour, the problem reached a head, and I decided to poke my head into the jungle of emissions controls and electronic accessories crowding my engine bay. “We have a breach in the warp core!” Lt. LaForge reported. “Can we use the Heisenburg compensators to redirect the deuterium more precisely through the dilithium crystal lattice?” I asked. “What?” “Oh, I was just making that up as I went along. I thought that that’s all you did too.” Within seconds, I was beamed off the Enterprise and back into the parking lot in front of my car. “Highly illogical,” Spock said.

The parking lot, being firmly planted in reality, served as an excellent springboard for finding the *actual* problem: one of my spark plug wires had fallen from its clip onto the hot exhaust manifold. The heat melted away most of the insulation and presented a convenient route to ground for the 35,000-volt spark potential.

“You da man!” I extolled my self.



In short order, I drove down the street to Welle Auto Supply. Iiiiittt w-w-was-s-s b-b-b-bump-p-py, but I didn’t mind, thinking — nay, KNOWING — that my car would soon be jitter-free.

“Cha-ching!” went the cash register, “Pop! Pop!” went the plug wire boots, and “Ahhhhh” went Keacher, happy to see the story pleasantly resolved.