In Memoriam: The Best American Racing Driver You Never Heard Of

Phil Hill died today of complications from Parkinson's disease. Although he does not have the name recognition of Mario Andretti, Tony Stewart or Jeff Gordon, he was the first great American racing driver who achieved heights in his profession that have scarcely been equalled.

Hill was the first American Formula One champion, driving for Ferrari in 1961. He also won the Le Mans and Sebring endurance races, and was a successful sports car racer all over the globe. He retired from racing before the advent of widespread television coverage, so his name is best known only by sports car and racing fanatics whose interest runs back to the days well before NASCAR's rise to prominence. He also retired from the sport without injuries in an era when fatalities were a routine cost of doing business.

By all accounts, he was a brilliant, generous and kind man. He contributed to Road & Track magazine for years, which is how I came to be aware of him. The world of sports car and racing enthusiasts has lost a great champion.

My Hand Hurts

I just signed my name forty seven times on numerous disclosure documents as our house purchase enters the end game. At least I know I will sleep better, aching wrist aside, knowing that I have read and acknowledged a letter from the California Energy Commission regarding New Duct Sealing Requirements that became effective on October 1, 2005.

And they say that California has budgetary problems every year. I can't imagine why.

First Day of School

Not only is it the first day of school, but it is the first day of new school for each of the kids. As a new middle-schooler and new to the idea of switching classes during the day, Kelly and I scouted out her classroom locations last night. We weren't the only ones.

After walking her to school, we walked up the road to take Michael to school. He had seen his classroom yesterday at a popsicle social. As kids arrived and filled the play yard with their shouts and games, he got upset as he realized that they all knew each other and he didn't know anyone. By the time he went into class, though, he was back to reasonably good spirits.

It will probably be a long week for both of them as they not only adjust to the elevation in grade (kindergarten to first grade, fifth grade to middle school), but also must do it without knowing anyone else at their schools. Soccer also starts this week, though, and their coaches have been very nice about promising to make sure that the kids are included in everything.

It's tough being the new kid, but fortunately, they can each take refuge in their classwork and soccer until they develop a network of friends.

That's great for them, but what about us?

Time Wasting Internet Game of the Day

This game seems simple enough.

Until you see how some people tackle the problems.

Of course, it is possible to stay simple, or even green (no engines).

Let your inner Rube Goldberg run wild.

I'm Not One To Advocate Regulatory Legislation, But I Called This One

I noted awhile back that hybrid vehicles, for all of their benefits, present a peculiar danger to the public. They are silent when running at parking lot speed. Golf carts are noisier.

It is not a trivial point that golf carts also emit a high-decibel screech or beep when in reverse. This is obviously to warn nearby duffers of the presence of an electric vehicle being driven by someone who is potentially more likely to fail to see hazards behind the vehicle (particularly if it is late in the round and the beer cart has been by a few times, but that's a different issue). There is a clear and long-established understanding that electric vehicles, particularly when driven in reverse (impairing the driver's ability to see), present a danger to those in the immediate vicinity.

Hybrid automobiles, thanks to their refined engineering, are very, very quiet when in electric-only mode. I have been suprised by a hybrid in more than one parking lot over the last few years. The California state legislature apparently shares my concern that a 3000 lb. vehicle running silent, even at parking lot speeds, represents a potential for serious injury for pedestrians. The elected officials in Sacramento have passed a bill to require hybrids to make more noise.

As with all legislation or ballot proposals, it pays to actually read the law to understand its true scope and effect. The bill does not require Toyota to put baseball cards in its Prius's spokes. Instead, Senate Bill 1174 will establish a commission to convene a "Quiet Motorized Road Vehicle and Safe Mobility Committee" made up of representatives from vehicle manufacturers, the blind or visually impaired pedestrian community, the insurance industry, vehicle research entities, and law enforcement organizations. The committee is to study the stimuli needed by visually impaired persons to accurately detect the location and speed of an automobile, as well as determine the feasibility of adapting current vehicular avoidance systems for use by visually impaired pedestrians to detect approaching automobiles. The committee is to present its findings on or before January 1, 2010, and will then disband.

I am generally not in favor of burdening industries with regulations that force an outcome without an understanding of how that outcome might be achieved. However, this committee does not impose a direct cost on automakers (which would then be passed on to consumers). In the meantime, I would hope that automakers, which are in the best position to understand their own products and their dynamics, take note of this legislation and create a cost-effective solution to what could be a real problem before it is imposed upon them (and us) by our often foolish citizen-lawmakers.

Strange Word of the Day

I think everyone has blind spots when it comes to spelling certain words. I don't mean spelling bee level words that nobody has ever heard of, but words that are ordinary in usage yet have the capacity to flummox otherwise well-informed people. I believe this is a highly personal quirk, so that a word that is the bane of one person's existence doesn't cause a moment's concern to someone else. For instance, back when Speak and Spell was a state of the art marvel, "bureau" always slowed me down, and still does.

Today I found another one. What is the next item after the eleventh? Twelfth. Roll that one around in your mouth for a bit. No word should combine "l," "f," and "th" in such close proximity. It is a word fit only for Sylvester.

Or maybe that's just me.

The Cars and the Ballplayer

I lived in the Los Angeles area for more than 15 years and had only intermittent brushes with celebrities. (My favorite tale is that I became friends with, and once sang with, the Little Mermaid.) Just a few months removed from living in the celebrity laden SoCal, I have now already had dinner in the company of a major league baseball player.

One of the benefits of being a member of a club founded upon a hobby is that enthusiasts of that hobby generally fall across the social spectrum. When the hobby is enthusiasm for a certain semi-high-end sports car manufacturer, you end up rubbing shoulders with some pretty interesting people in these clubs.

C.J. Wilson, currently the closer for the Texas Rangers, is a Porsche enthusiast of the highest order. Although he has not yet signed his "big deal" yet in his young career, he has managed to entertain himself with a short but very impressive list of particularly choice examples of the breed. He is also a very active member in two of the online clubs in which I also take part. Despite his relatively high profile occupation, he has never been shy about attending get-togethers hosted by club members.

Taking the opportunity presented to us by the Rangers’ weekend series against the Oakland A's, a few of us put together a dinner Saturday evening in C.J.'s honor. Lest that sound too grand, the dinner was really simply an excuse for a bunch of gearheads to get together and yack about their cars among like-minded individuals who understand the obsession.

We went to the game that afternoon under warm blue skies, then went to the dinner in Half Moon Bay that evening in thick fog. There were about 20 of us in a back room at the restaurant, all enjoying good food and good company. C.J. got a break from the grind of the 162 game schedule to talk cars with fellow enthusiasts, and we got the opportunity to spend some time with a big leaguer. He turned out to be extremely nice and grateful for the opportunity to get together with everybody.

The restaurant probably didn't mind us being there, either. The parking lot was pretty spectacular -- and I count my contribution as the least of all. Notwithstanding the extensive multi-stage wash, polish and wax job I performed on the car before we left, mine was by far the most ordinary of all of the cars brought by our group at night.

One of the pleasant things I have learned in a few years of ownership is that there are an awful lot of nice, humble people who simply happened to be Porsche enthusiasts and owners. As in any part of society, self-important jerks are out there. Fortunately, the people I have been lucky enough to meet -- including the occasional professional athlete -- have been uniformly decent and fun to know.

Annoying Language Crutch Of The Day

It is hard to figure out how some verbal tics become commonplace. Nevertheless, every once in a while a useless new word or phrase enters the lexicon, usually without notice until it has infected all forms of written and spoken media. Or, as today's pick would have it, pretty much everything you read and hear.

I first became acutely aware of the overuse of "pretty much" when reading Leigh Montville's otherwise well-written biography of Ted Williams. The frequency with which that phrase was employed made me consciously wonder where his editor was the day the proofs for those pages came through. An empty meringue of a modifier, the term adds nothing to any sentence in which it is found. Once my radar was tuned to that frequency, though, I discovered that "pretty much" had pretty much taken over. I have seen the phrase used in news stories, feature stories, news broadcasts ... now, of course, it jumps off the page or the TV screen at me.

As it now will for you. You're welcome.

Home Sweet Home, Again

After months of searching, waiting and hoping, we will have progressed from seeing a house for the first time to being under-contract buyers in less than 48 hours. Lest that seem dangerously impulsive, we have been examining our neighborhood with a microscope for nearly a year, so we have a very strong sense of location and value. This house popped up at the right time for the right price (approximately), and after a quick offer and counter-proposal, we will sign the papers to go into escrow tonight.

Assuming that all inspections and financial details work out without drama, in less than six weeks we will be moving into this house. It is very typical of the houses in the area: mid-1960s ranch style home, four bedrooms, two baths, everything modestly sized. The house has some recessed lighting, updated windows and some new tile and appliances in the kitchen. The garage is somewhat wider than a typical two-car garage, so we will be able to have plenty of storage and work space. A key feature for us is a bonus room that will serve as a family/rumpus room and guest bedroom. The house is about two blocks from where we are now, so it is still close to shopping, and even closer to both schools. There are some changes we would like to make, but it is very livable immediately.

There are a lot of details to iron out between now and when it becomes ours, but it is amazing to us that we have finally come this far. We saw the house on Monday thinking it would be a backup possibility in case another house we had been looking at fell through. Little did we suspect that by Wednesday night, we would have an agreement to buy it ourselves.

I'm exhausted.

But The Cockroaches Survived Anyway

So a guy blew up his apartment while trying to exterminate bugs. A couple of thoughts:

If it took that much poison to deal with the critters, he's better off detonating the place.

And, doesn't anyone watch Mythbusters anymore?

Downsizing Everywhere

Amid news that Starbucks is closing 600 stores and Americans are using less gasoline comes word of another reduction that will affect your everyday life:

Punctuation.

Or, more accurately, the space after punctuation.

It turns out that the holy writ of period usage -- two spaces after a period at the end of a sentence -- is no longer the standard. The spacing required for a clear demarcation between sentences typed in the monotype fonts of yesteryear has been obviated by computers and their ability to manipulate proportional fonts. Both the MLA style manual and the Chicago Manual of Style now allow for single spacing after a sentence-ending period.

To think of all the time I have wasted over the years making that extra hit on the space bar...

A Little Semi-Obscure Baseball History

The name of my fantasy baseball teams is the Eefus Aficionados. The eefus (or eephus) pitch is a seldom-seen high lob that has appeared in major league baseball from time to time. I picked the name for its aura of self-deprecation, in that the pitch is usually used when the pitcher has no other conventional resources (also known as "talent") to survive, and because it works well with my name in the logo I created:


Here is an enjoyable article giving some of the colorful history of the pitch.

Comcast [Stinks]

Who knew that my comment about companies hearing about what they do wrong in a nanosecond would come home to roost so soon? If I had been paying attention to what everyone was telling me, I should have.

I was coy in my earlier post about the identity of our cable provider, since I felt no need to provoke the plodding giant with possibly unjustified criticism. I no longer feel such need to protect the good name of Comcast, since there is so little good that requires protecting.

From start to abrupt finish, our experience was a disaster. The website offered packages that did not reveal the channel lineups because the section of the website listed channel lineups did not use the same package names. The people on the phone couldn't help because I was ordering products and services through their Internet group. The Internet sign-up process culminated in a chat, which would have been a completely pointless and time wasting exercise except for the fact that it gave me the opportunity to order a box for a second television, which was impossible to do through the regular site.

The installation of Internet service (which essentially consists of screwing in a coaxial cable into the back of a modem) could be mine for the low, low price of $100, or $150 for two computers. As an alternative, I could order a do-it-yourself kit for $10, which of course I selected. Or I tried to, until I got to the gatekeeper questionnaire that would determine whether I was qualified to order the do-it-yourself kit. The first qualification is that I had to be an existing Comcast customer. I was not, of course. Cheryl's genius suggestion, as she peered deep into the heart of the byzantine beast, was to order cable TV first, then order the Internet service. Ah, requiring customers to do something in two steps that could have been done in one. Could it really be? As soon as I closed the chat window on my cable-TV order (thereby establishing me as an existing Comcast customer), I reopened the browser and ordered Internet service. Brilliant.

We had to wait a week for actual installation, of course. The installation technician did not appear during the 8 a.m. to 10 a.m. window, of course. When I called Comcast at 11, the person on the phone told me that our appointment had been rescheduled, of course. In fact, the appointment had been rescheduled at 7:50 a.m. that morning. Did we receive a telephone call alerting us to this important fact? Of course not.

When the technician finally arrived at 1 p.m., he spent the entire time he was in the house warning us that we probably would not get very good reception, and that our Internet connection would also probably be spotty at best. This, from the representative of the company that was delivering those very services. He said we should upgrade the cables in the house -- for a fee, naturally. However, he did not bother to stay to do the work he recommended (he said he was running late for his next appointment -- ha!) and that we might have been willing to pay for. Before leaving, he told us that it would probably take a couple of hours for all of the channels to come online. Uh, what? The last I checked, the cable box was not powered by vacuum tubes.

By the time I got home in the evening, perhaps a dozen channels were viewable on the family room television, and none came through in the bedroom television. The rest said they would be coming "soon." By hooking the cable directly into the television and bypassing the box -- on the technician's recommendation -- we could finally see several dozen of the basic cable channels. No high definition, though, and nothing with a channel number higher than 75. Outstanding.

At least we could reengage with the rest of the world through the Internet. My wireless router worked immediately and well. Upon hooking up our modem, however, I discovered that we were not receiving any signal. When I called Comcast yet again, I was flabbergasted to learn that they had no record of me ordering Internet service at all. When I asked what it would take to start that service, I was told that I could not do it over the phone because I had ordered the cable TV/Internet service bundle over the Internet. Just to be sure that we were on the same page, I verified with the person on the phone that they expected me to go online to correct the problem with my nonexistent online service. I don't think he grasped the irony of the situation as profoundly as I did.

With Cheryl urgently making throat slashing gestures in the next room (to her credit, she had foreseen nothing but disaster), I advised my friendly Comcast representative that our next step would be to cancel the television and (nonexistent) Internet service immediately.

"I'm sorry, Dave, I can't do that."

"Why not, HAL?"

"Because that group closed for the day half an hour ago."

The level of failure at that point was comprehensively breathtaking. Our television service, which required guesswork at the time of ordering, was providing about a dozen stations through one television and none through the other (with a horribly clunky on-screen interface to boot). Our Internet service, for which I had endured a lengthy and ultimately pointless Internet chat session, simply did not exist. I could not rectify the situation on the phone because I had ordered through the Internet, and I could not rectify the situation through the Internet because, apparently, I had not ordered Internet service, my confirmation number for the order notwithstanding. I could not even cancel service because those elite, specially trained people had gone home for the day.

Suffice it to say, twelve hours later, we have now unsubscribed from Comcast's "services." At my insistence, I have been told by the person on the phone (no doubt one of the highly trained cancellation shock troops I'd just missed the night before) that my service would be backdated so that I would not be charged. It should go without saying that I no longer have any expectation of this actually being the case.

AT&T, you own me now. Landline, DSL, Dish Network (maybe even an iPhone)... it's all yours.

More Southwest Goodness

Sometimes it pays to be nice. I recently sent a letter to the President of Southwest Airlines expressing my gratitude that the airline, by its mere existence but also by its efficient operations, allowed us to pull off our recently-concluded nine month odyssey of separation. I felt a little sheepish doing it, like a kid writing to his baseball hero. However, businesses everywhere hear from their customers nanoseconds after something goes wrong (especially the airline industry), so I felt it was fair for them to hear nice things from a genuinely satisfied and grateful customer.

I was surprised today by a message that I had received a companion pass, entitling me to designate someone to fly with me for free for the next twelve months. As I examined it a little more, I realized that I didn't meet the normal qualifications (100 flights in a year). My last flight was also a couple of weeks ago, so I had not just taken a flight within the last few days that would have generated the reward as a response. I can only conclude that someone appreciated my kind words and threw a little extra reward my way. That's the way to handle customers and build goodwill.

It's just a love-fest all around, I guess.

To anyone from Southwest reading this: Thank you, sincerely.

Economical Hands Free Device

There has been a mild amount of angst over the recent inception of a new law in California that requires drivers to use a hands-free device for all cell phone usage. Wireless headsets can get pretty pricey. Thankfully, low cost alternatives are readily available:

Danger, Will Robinson!

We have become quite daring in our spacefaring adventures. Today, two residents of the International Space Station removed a potentially defective explosive bolt (which packs the power of a large M80 firecracker) from the Soyuz reentry capsule, putting it in a stainless steel explosion-proof container. To perform the operation, insulation had to be cut with a serrated knife. Sharp objects are generally shunned in space, especially on spacewalks, because any breach of a spacesuit would mean quick death for its occupant. The task was necessary because the last two Soyuz returns were well short of optimal, plunging at ballistic trajectory and speed, thought to be caused by the failure of some components that were not jettisoned as planned due to malfunctioning explosive bolts.

It should be noted that the American astronaut stayed inside with a laptop, some books and music while his Russian roommates performed the potentially deadly operation. After all, it was Russian explosive bolts that malfunctioned. You boys messed it up, y'all get to go fix it. We'll just wait here in case something goes horribly wrong and you die keeping everything in order until you get back.

Almost Home

We spent all last week preparing for our move. We have now relocated ourselves to Northern California, and the truck with half of our lives in it will arrive tomorrow morning.

There are many stories and pictures to share, but we will not have internet access at the house until next week. The related thought for the day: when literally everyone you ask curses the name, nay, the very existence of the local cable company, do not be surprised when your installation process is clumsy, confusing, exasperating and expensive. I hope that the actual service we receive will be better than our initial experience.

I lapse into irrationality that way sometimes.

Homeless

Escrow closed yesterday, right on time, with no complications. We are now quite literally living here on borrowed time. Disconcerting.

The Class of 2008

Yesterday was, finally, the last day of school. Because the school will be dropping sixth grade next year, the fifth graders also got a promotion ceremony. The kids and parents all complained about the many hours of practice the students went through over the last week. The result, however, was the most intricately choreographed graduation ceremony I've ever seen, and the kids absolutely pulled it off. The students processed down two aisles in the auditorium two by two, with pause points at four different spots (I have yet to see bridesmaids who can do this so well); they all went swiftly to their appointed seats; just as the processional song ended, the last student arrived at his seat; they sang a song in great voice; they sat wordlessly and motionless through an hour and twenty minute ceremony; and they received their (fake) diplomas in a swift, intricate processional as announced by each of the fifth grade teachers who also were on top of their game. Most of the kids complained the loudest about one of the teachers who was the drill sergeant for the whole thing, but that teacher (new to the profession, who looked like she was skipping homeroom at the local high school to be there) was unable to stop crying for the rest of the afternoon, she was so proud of how well the students did.

Kelly received a top award at the ceremony, one of a few students whose standardized test scores, grades and citizenship marks were at the top of the class. [Sorry, no pictures of the ceremony itself. Our little camera can do a lot of things well, but indoor, low-light environments are not its forte. It's time to save up for a proper DSLR.)

As a huge surprise, Cheryl also received an award. For her six years of leadership the foundation that raises money for the school, including complete funding for the school's computer lab and teacher through means like the eScrip program that she spearheaded, she was called up on stage by the principal to receive recognition, a trophy and a very nice watch. It was recognition that was well-deserved for the Foundation as a whole, which does more good than most people knew. It was a sweet way to part ways with a school in which Cheryl invested herself heavily.

Not incidentally, yesterday was also the last day of kindergarten for Michael. We went to a special lunch (Marie Callendar's), then caught an afternoon showing of Wall-E (Michael's request for weeks). It was a perfect last day of school, even if it was bittersweet because it is really the last day there.

I Should Stay In The Office

I seem to get swept up in strange things when I leave the office for business. If it is not a nationwide airline computer meltdown, it is a horrific traffic accident that brings an entire region to a halt.

I was headed to San Jose this morning for a rare court appearance when I rounded a bend in the freeway and saw the first black plumes of smoke from a new fire about a mile ahead. As I approached and then came to a stop, it became apparent that the fire was on the freeway itself, and that it was a vehicle on fire. Not just a little bit; it was an entire truck, with flames roaring fifty feet in the air. The firemen eventually got there after five minutes or so and doused the flames. I came to a stop not much more than 100 yards away and watched the whole thing while we sat there for half an hour. People got out of their cars, taking cell phone pictures or commiserating with fellow stranded travelers. I had my office call the court, because it looked like we weren't going anywhere. Fortunately, the police let at least some of us through on the shoulder and I got to my appearance on time.

It was ugly, though. It was obvious that the truck had jumped the barrier, and by the ferocity of the flames, it was clearly a very bad scene. As it turns out, the truck had gone over the barrier avoiding a stopped car in front of it, then hit a truck coming the other way head-on. I didn't learn that until later; unfortunately, it was a double fatality. I could not have been more than a minute behind all of it in traffic as it happened. It is sobering to think that two people lost their lives right there within sight of where I was.

According to the news reports, southbound traffic was closed until 3 pm, so I was apparently very lucky to get through. Not only would I have missed my court appearance, I might have missed my flight home. Northbound traffic was closed until 7 pm. Keep in mind that the accident happened at 9:15 am. It was so bad that my 4:45 pm flight was slightly delayed at the gate because a number of people were running late because of the traffic delays.

Coming back from court on another freeway, I saw an overturned car on the other side of the road. It was a day to drive with caution.