The floating name game
Allow me to introduce you the John B, but don’t think I named my boat after myself; it’s a reference to the Beach Boys song, “Sloop John B.”
Boat names come in various genres, from the traditional (“Tranquility,” “Carpe Diem”), to the saucy (“Feelin’ Nauti,” “Wet Dreams”), to the situational (“She Got the House”).
Read my full analysis of boat names in the Lansing State Journal today (May 23), in the ink-on-paper version, or at http://www.lansingstatejournal.com/article/20130523/MICHIGANDER/305230007/What-s-name-Quite-bit-boat-owners
OnStar’s last gasp (I hope)
I’ve reported previously on my relationship with the OnStar folks. They hound me; I ignore them.
That’s the way it’s been since I made the mistake of accepting OnStar’s free trial offer on a recently purchased vehicle. Calls, emails, text messages, letters and, on two memorable occasions, interruptions in the regularly scheduled programming on my car radio- all in a effort to get me to subscribe.
They just can’t take a hint.
Well, on Tuesday I got a “Dear John” letter, via email, from OnStar’s chief operating officer, Terry M. Inch. Our relationship, Inch informed me, has been officially “deactivated.” The note sounded like a restraining order from an estranged spouse:
“This means we cannot respond, and you cannot contact an OnStar Advisor for any reason, including emergencies.
“OnStar can no longer automatically contact help for you in the event of a crash.
“You cannot be connected to an OnStar Advisor for assistance during any emergency, including collisions, severe weather, or other crises.
“If your vehicle is stolen, OnStar will not be able to assist with location or recovery.
“If the keys are locked inside, OnStar cannot unlock the doors remotely for you.”
Etc., etc., etc.
One thing the note DIDN’T say: “As a result of this deactivation, you WILL NOT have another monthly bill to pay.”
Oh, and the note explained how easy it would be to reactivate OnStar should I come to my senses. All would be forgiven.
The enemy from within
This handsome long-beard didn’t like the looks of the tom staring back at him from my pole barn window, and decided to challenge him to a duel.
It was about 1 p.m. when I heard the racket of turkey beak on glass, and went outside to break up the fight.
It ended in a draw.
What are the odds?
Here’s one for the “Life is Funny” files:
On Saturday, just as we were about to head to Detroit for a baby shower, the Traverse’s dashboard tire monitor informed me that there was a tremor in the force - only 15 pounds of air in the front driver’s-side tire.
I examined the tire and found the problem: not one, but two, roofing nails; source unknown.
So, I hustled up to the nearest full-service gas station (thank God a few still exist), and got the holes plugged. We hit the road just slightly behind schedule.
While I was in Detroit, hanging with the guys, the subject of flat tires came up, and we all agreed that they’re relatively rare these days.
We were on the highway, heading home, when - BOOM! - the rear passenger-tire blew. No roofing nail this time, but definitely a hole created by a foreign object.
We limped home, at 55 mph, on the donut (pictured above).
So, as I see it, in one day I used up my flat-tire quota for the next 10 years.
Get out in the kitchen and rattle those pots and pans
Sunday, 5:45 a.m. Just Colin and me. He blows through his toys. The Calico Princess is making herself scarce. The lad gives me a look that says, “Quick! Amuse me before I become unpleasant.”
That’s when I remember one of my mother’s old tricks. I bring the boy into the kitchen, open up the pots-and-pans cupboard, and let him have his way.
Before long he’s surrounded by cookware. Metal on metal. Metal on ceramic tile. Joyful noises.