Race Day 2011

Want to guess what my favorite part of a pinewood derby is? Nope, it's not the thrill of speed. Not the joy of victory. Not the agony of defeat. Not even the cool gadgets timing things down to ten-thousandths of a second.

It's not even the cake. Although that's quite good, too.

Give up?

It's the creativity.

OK, case in point: Normally, if you go to a car race, you'd expect to see people racing cars, right? Not here. On race day in a pinewood derby, your car might be matched up against...

A tank!

A shoe!

A gymnast on a balance beam! A UPS truck!

A rocket-powered pizza delivery wagon! Rocket Barbie, whose pink ship has been hit by a silver meteor! (Seriously. I asked.)

A pirate ship!

....not to mention dragons, of course. But you already knew about that.

CREATIVE WRITING ASSIGNMENT: Write a short story involving a tank, a gymnast, a shoe, a dragon, and your choice of Rocket Barbie, a supersonic delivery guy, and/or a pirate ship. Send it to kerr at kconline dot com. I'll publish the best ones here. You have 10 minutes. Go!

Of course, I enjoyed the racing, too.

We were seeded 12th out of 31 this year, at 4.3262 seconds — a big improvement over last year's performance of 4.5771. Yeah, two tenths of a second is huge in this world.

OK, confession time. After last year's third-from-the-bottom performance, I was secretly quite pleased to find ourselves in the ranks of the "sorta-fast." While I'd let Fiona have free reign over the shape and design of the car, this year the wheels and axles were mine. Oh, the tools I got into. There were pipe cleaners. Files. Drills. Jeweler's rouge. Dad gave me a book of pinecar speed secrets for Christmas, and I used as many of the tips as I had time and tools for. It wasn't so much an overt competition with the other dads (there was enough of that going on without me getting involved, most of it pretty friendly) — it was more to see if I could do it, too. Granted, that's complicated by the fact that one has to compete to see if one measures up....

Wanna know why those other cars were so fast? There'a s dragon behind them! Yeah! You'd run, too!

On the whole though, there was good fun to be had from the start of the track...

At the starting pin.

...to the end of it.

Racers get a prime spot right at the finish line. Remarkably, Fiona is actually in contact with the ground here.

We didn't win any prizes this year. I knew I hadn't done enough rocket science to win on speed, and our car really wasn't a replica of anything. I thought we had a chance on "best of show" (craftsmanship) or creativity, but those passed us by, as well. But all that's OK.

I won my prize two weeks earlier.

Fiona and were out in the shed together, huddled in our jackets, and sanding away happily at our little wedge. "So, Fiona," I asked, "Whose car is this? Yours, or mine?" She looked thoughtful. "It's your car and my car. And the time that we're working on it is, like, special you-and-me time."

What prize could be better?

The Client

The client.

1 year before deadline: Client starts talking to designer about a project they've got coming up in a year. Designer commits to helping the client achieve her goals. Client and designer discuss concepts leisurely, with no real hurry.

3 months before deadline: Client starts developing concepts and models in earnest.

Left to Right: Fire F, Cactus F, Ice F, Sun F. If you look really hard, you can also see the Dragon F, Bunny F (my favorite), Cat F (Deborah's favorite), and the Frog F.

1 month before deadline: Designer asks client what she has decided on. Client produces design brief, detailing her project.

"This is probably the best Dragon F I've ever made. Make my pine car like this one."

Designer balks, and suggests design alternatives.

Client sticks to her vision.

Designer wonders how in the world he's going to make this.

3 weeks before deadline: Designer gets inspired during a sermon in church. Unbeknownst to the pastor, it's not inspiration concerning the sermon. Designer sketches designs on back of bulletin:

Hey, I could make this thing in layers...

Client approves concept sketch. Production work begins.

Gotta love Ponoko. They make something as complicated as CNC laser cutting and engraving easy as just choosing the right colors for your design.

2 weeks before deadline: Designer presents first proof to the client. Client marks up the master copy with corrections.

She was very adamant that the texture be dots — not scales, not checks, not zigzags, not crosshatching, dots. And the eyebrow has to be straight. Get it right, Daddy!

10 days before deadline: Client approves final proof; files are sent out for production.

Confident that all is well, client and designer turn their attention to producing supporting material.

The car body is painted blue, then covered in painter's tape; the client is given a marker and, after practicing on a separate sheet of paper, makes the design she wants...

which is then cut out, peeled, and painted over...

then cut and peeled again...

to reveal just what the client wanted:

8 days before deadline: Designer, checking daily, starts to wonder what's taking so long. The file has been approved at the plant, but has not entered production yet.

Designer does some digging, and finds that the projected completion date is in two weeks.

Designer panics. Briefly.

Designer assures client that all will be well, even if not everything is together on time. Meantime, designer scrambles to find a local supplier who can work on very short notice.

6 days before deadline: Designer finds a shop that will do the work in a single day. Relief is palpable. Tells shop that production will start as soon as first order is canceled.

Client discovers provision for cancellation fee at first shop. It's more than the job was worth to begin with. Shop agrees to slip this job in, a week ahead of schedule, if Designer will pay the shipping upgrade to get it there on time. The design spends 15 minutes on a laser cutter, and is packaged up and makes the last pickup of the day by less than 5 minutes.

5 days before deadline: Designer discovers that the deadline isn't Saturday. It's Wednesday. The same day the parts are supposed to arrive.

Designer arranges for time off from work on Wednesday.

8 hours before deadline: The parts arrive.

There's something very oddly satisfying about popping out laser-cut parts.

Test fitting. Everything lines up the way it should. Good.

5 hours before deadline: Designer picks up client from school. They spend a leisurely afternoon together, decorating and assembling the final product.

My favorite part? The eyes follow you.

3 hours before deadline: Client leaves for Kids' Club. Designer stays behind to finish putting the project together. Saws, blowtorches (plural, both out of fuel), lead, drills, and very large hammers are used. Carefully, of course.

90 minutes before deadline: Designer packs up the Product carefully in an old shirt and Amazon box, and roars off towards church on his motorcycle, with a small sledgehammer, balls of lead, and a tube of superglue in his backpack.

1 hour before deadline: The final product takes its first trial run on the track. It flies off and breaks a wing. Designer does not swear. He is, after all, in a church gymnasium.

From previous research, Designer knows that superglue will leave a large white area on the acrylic. Appearances matter here.

45 minutes before deadline: Wing is mended with acrylic fingernail glue.

30 minutes before deadline: Weight is added and subtracted, to get the car up to the 5 oz. maximum. The weight of the drops of superglue attaching the weights to the car puts the car over the weight limit. Twice.

5 minutes before deadline: Client cheerfully presents her car for weigh-in. It comes in at 5.00 ounces exactly, and is cleared to race on Saturday. She christens it "Fiona's Fiery F."

U2 on Grace and Karma

I haven't really kept up on my music collection over the years; I'm still several albums behind on such greats as Vigilantes of Love, Over the Rhine and U2. But I love, love love, reading an interview with Bono (lead singer for U2). He preaches, he meddles, but man, he gets the point across. Go read this. All of it. Would that we could all articulate it so clearly.

Well, what would you do with it?

Several years ago, I was given a project at work: managing the artwork and printing for a huge, sprawling series of archaeological reports. This being a well-funded expedition, the reports were to be in color. This, and other factors dictated that we have it printed overseas.

I got to design the dustjacket. Now, each printer and bindery has their own way of doing things; one uses thicker cardboard here, one uses a different kind of paper there, and it's no good trying to guess at what the exact dimensions will be. So I wrote a note asking for the dimensions of the soon-to-be book. What I expected was a dozen numbers, or perhaps an Excel worksheet; what I got, express-mailed from Singapore a few days later, was... a book.

724 pages, using the exact paper they'd use for the final product. And every one of them was blank.

They included a sample stamping on the cover that I found amusing. Sure, who wouldn't want a book like this?

So what would you do with it?

It served its initial purpose quite nicely, and then sat on the corner of my desk for several years. I knew what I wanted to do with it. And so, finally, after all this time, I've gotten started: I'm going to practice my chops at drawing in pen and ink. I'm going to fill it up, and work on my skills. So what if it takes me ten years....?

The first drawing. I've had this walnut shell sitting in a little basket, just waiting to be drawn.

One page down, 723 to go.

Review: The Magicians by Lev Grossman

I said to a guy, “Tell me, what is it about cocaine that makes it so wonderful?” And the guy said, “Well, it intensifies your personality.” And I said, “Yes, but what if you’re an asshole?” —Bill Cosby

Quentin Coldwater is a talented, bright kid with vast opportunities. He's just not happy about it. Setting out for an ivy-league college interview, he is immersed in magical intrigue and — perhaps more important to Quentin — a glimpse at a manuscript for a previously-unknown sequel to a magical fantasy series about a group of children that go off to the magical land of Fillory. On chasing down this blowing manuscript, he finds himself just in time to take the entrance exam for Brakebills, a magical university. A magical education later, Quentin Coldwater is a talented, bright kid with vast opportunities. He's just not happy about it.

So, what would you do with a magical education, and a virtually limitless slush fund for freshly-minted magicians? Party 'til you drop, apparently. In the midst of the debauchery, a classmate shows up with intriguing news: There really is a Fillory, and he's found a way to get there. So they go. Not all of them return. In the end, Quentin Coldwater is a talented, bright adult with vast opportunities. He's just not happy about it.

Make no mistake: Grossman can write. And, for the first third of the book, that fools you into thinking it's worth reading. The novelty of the approach and the sheer inventiveness throughout lets you excuse some excesses in the characters, lets you call the details "gritty" and refreshing.

Now, I allow a bit more leeway than some do as to what's acceptable to read. I enjoy seeing truth through the eyes of others, and I'm willing to put up with a few things to see that. Some people would be offended at the mere mention of magic. Some people would hurl the book away from themselves should any character take a drink, use foul language, or look at each other in lust. Sinners sin. That's what they do. No need to be surprised by it.

That said, the excesses start piling on heavier and heavier. Time is marked in bottles, and by the midpoint of the book, the characters are pretty much engaged in outright debauchery. I plowed on past these points, thinking "it can't get worse..." and pretty much being wrong, every time. By the end of the book, it's downright gory. I don't mind a little dirt in a good story, but really, must one wallow in it?

It's tempting, at least initially, to compare elements of this story to other greats in the genre. Brakebills = Hogwarts, Fillory = Narnia, and so on. Grossman evidently didn't want to continue any of those traditions for their own sake; fans of Narnia in particular are going to feel like he sullied the tale for no good reason. "Narnia without Aslan" isn't a new literary concept, but the likes of Phillip Pullman attack it directly; in The Magicians, it's more negligent homicide than murder one.

The most pervasive theme throughout the book, however, isn't in the book: it's the intense desire, instilled in the reader, to reach into the pages and slap Quentin & Co. upside the head. Part of the discomfort for me was in identifying with the main character, and realizing that I would have wanted to do the same thing in that situation. Every bad decision that could be made, generally is.

At the end of it all, there are quite a number of things one can take away from the book: Power corrupts; absolute power corrupts absolutely. Life without purpose is pretty depressing. No amount of talent makes up for being a jerk. Narnia without Aslan is no better than any other place. Escapist fantasy this isn't — quite the opposite. I'm not sorry I visited this particular world, but I'm not going to be making a return trip.

The Children's Hour by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

Between the dark and the daylight,
When the night is beginning to lower,
Comes a pause in the day's occupations,
That is known as the Children's Hour.

I hear in the chamber above me
The patter of little feet,
The sound of a door that is opened,
And voices soft and sweet.

From my study I see in the lamplight,
Descending the broad hall stair,
Grave Alice, and laughing Allegra,
And Edith with golden hair.

A whisper, and then a silence:
Yet I know by their merry eyes
They are plotting and planning together
To take me by surprise.

A sudden rush from the stairway,
A sudden raid from the hall!
By three doors left unguarded
They enter my castle wall!

They climb up into my turret
O'er the arms and back of my chair;
If I try to escape, they surround me;
They seem to be everywhere.

They almost devour me with kisses,
Their arms about me entwine,
Till I think of the Bishop of Bingen
In his Mouse-Tower on the Rhine!

Do you think, o blue-eyed banditti,
Because you have scaled the wall,
Such an old mustache as I am
Is not a match for you all!

I have you fast in my fortress,
And will not let you depart,
But put you down into the dungeon
In the round-tower of my heart.

And there will I keep you forever,
Yes, forever and a day,
Till the walls shall crumble to ruin,
And moulder in dust away!

First day of school

See? I told you I was behind...

Fiona is off to first grade, and Aiden is off to preschool for the first time.

The traditional picture on the front porch, each in their favorite outfits.

Both schools are in easy walking distance.

I'm amazed that they bothered to put any vegetation in front of this sign before the first day. I assure you, we weren't the only people telling this particular story with cameras.

At the classroom door, it was very easy to see the difference between Fiona's and Aiden's personalities. Fiona got to the doorway, and froze:

Fiona's hesitation at the door was just long enough to capture this perfectly.

Then, she immediately started seeking structure: "Where's my desk? Where do I put my lunch? Where do I put my backpack? Where...." ...is a high, semi-panicky voice.

Mrs. Burgher was unfazed.

As we left, she was immersing herself in the experience as fast as she could.

Then, it was time to walk the two blocks to Aiden's preschool.

And then there were three. Plus Daddy's shadow.

We got to Aiden's classroom, and he walked right in. Right past the teacher. Right to the toys. Adjustment? What's there to adjust to?

Oh, this looks like fun...

Tomorrow, I'll be posting photos from their high school graduations. Hyperbole, yes, but then, consider: Fiona is seven. Somewhere between a third and a half of her time in our nest is already gone. Better enjoy it while it lasts!

Welcome back

Yes, I know, it's been nearly a month. You can blame Facebook, blame my job, blame my kids, blame my wife, any number of things. Mostly, it boils down to not feeling like I had the free time to write. But tonight, Deborah is out having a "girls' night out," and the kids are in bed (if not necessarily sleeping...) so I'll see what i can do to correct that.