Frenchy's Rant

Actual letter I sent to Cape Cod Potato Chips today:

Cape Cod Potato Chip Company
100 Breed’s Hill Road
Hyannis, MA 02601

Dear Cape Cod Potato Chip Makers,

Recently I was a passenger on a US Airways flight (First Class! Seat 3F) and I received a complimentary bag of your ‘Reduced Fat’ Potato Chips. 40% Reduced Fat! Incredible! How do you do it? Now it will take me nearly THREE bags of your delicious chips to get my required 100% daily fat intake.

I love Cape Cod! One time I went to a beach on the Cape, but I got bit by a crab. I haven’t been back since, but I assure you I still love Cape Cod just the same, especially those great cranberries they make all over the place, and of course, your 40% Reduced Fat chips.

As I sat there three miles up in the air, munching my crunchy treat, I thought of somthing. What happens to the other 60% of the fat? Do you dump it into the Nantucket Sound? I hope not, it would be very un-healthy for the mutant fish living there. So, tell me, what do you do with all that extra fat you have laying around the chip factory?

Also, the back of the bag said to inquire about ordering your chips by mail. My mailman strikes me as a pretty angry fellow (not as bad as some of those OTHER postmen, but close.) How can I be assured these chips will arrive in tip top chip shape, and not all smashed to bits?

I look forward to hearing from you about my fat question.

Sincerely,

Frenchy

Before

Spring has officially arrived. I know this because the soft top for my new Jeep, the one I ordered three months ago, finally came in. I had a few hours before my flight today, so I decided, what the hell, I’d install it. How hard could it be? With good directions, some decent tools and a lot of patience, this would be a snap.

Sadly, I lacked every single one of those requirements.

Bad Directions

My First Toolbox by Playskool, with Hi Dollar, Hi Tech Screwdriver

My toolbox falls somewhere between Play Skool and a Big Red Box ‘o Junk. Half of the wrenches and screwdrivers are missing, and the only Philips Head screwdriver I could find came from ‘My First Toolbox’, a Chirstmas gift when I was six.

Don’t Forget the Fully Articulated Splined Augmentation Shaft!!

Why do they create incredibly complex names for all the pieces? I mean, Mopar made theses things, right? Why not call them Bent Bar with One Hole, Bent Bar with TWO Holes, Black Thing with Hinge, Silver Screw, ect? Or even better yet, just number them. Part One, gets two screws (Part Two) that are slotted into Part Three. That would be WAY too simple.

My other problem with these types of things is I am spatially challenged. It’s true. There was a test in high school with all these different shapes, and I had to guess what three dimentional solid the flat shapes would fold into. I think I got one question right out of one hundred, almost dooming me to a career of truck driving. Thankfully there is no folding involved in audio engineering!

Mopar’s installation manual was eerily similar to that test, and filled me with the same apprehension and dread. The directions show a drawing of parts being installed, but because of my condition, I know that there are really up to FOUR different ways to install a Rear Bow Assembly to a Header Assembly. I usually try them all to find the one I like best, even if it involves drilling.

Then I take it apart when I realize that not only won’t it fit, but I probably destroyed it.

Pivot Knuckle with T-5.192003 Pivot Bracket Bolt (bloody knuckles not included)

To attach the Reticulating Arm Pivot Knuckle Holder to the Driver’s Side Adventure Sport Bar (I am sure Mopar’s lawyers put an end to calling it a ‘Roll Bar’ a LONG time ago) requires a Pivot Bracket Bolt. Theses damned bolts have a star-shaped head. From an earlier experience with motorcycle repair, I should have remembered that if you don’t use the EXACTLY right size wrench – which conveniently come in helpful sizes like T-4, T-30 and T-8125 – you’ll either skin your knuckle, or worse, snap the head right off the bolt. Don’t ask how I know. It took a real mechanic five hours to drill that snapped bolt out of the motorcycle.

After a few choice curse words, I made it to Step 11. This step should be marked with a red exclamation point in a yellow triangle, or better yet, a skull and crossbones. Now they want me (mind you, I am an audio engineer) to take a power tool and MAKE HOLES in my brand new Jeep. I knew I should have had a beer for breakfast.

Additional Vent Holes Installed

After attaching, uninstalling, folding, spindling, drilling and re-attching every single part multiple times, I finally finished installing the soft top. Final Tally: Three hours, Four “God Dammits!“‘ Seventeen “Shits!” and one “Motherfucking Cocksucking Piece of Fucking SHIT!” later, the job was complete. I also turned a set of twenty five confusing and poorly written instructions into almost fifty steps.

After, Top Down, Ready to Fly (Off)

For all that work and cursing, my Jeep now has a soft top, and I am officially ready for summer to begin. I’m not too sure how ready I am to try and drive the soft topped Jeep however, because I’m afraid I missed a step or two, and the top might fly off onto the highway.

Thank you Mopar for putting the F-U in fun!

I had over an hour between connections in Detroit on Wednesday, so I decided to have breakfast. I stopped into a place called Online Cafe, and took a seat at the mostly empty bar. After about twenty minutes of grimacing and avoiding me, my invisibility pill must have worn off, and the waitress decided to let me order. I have no idea why this always happens to me, but it does. The evil curse of Dr. Pepper is never far off.

Anyway, while I was ordering, an older, Mexican-looking woman wearing an enormous checkered beret came in and sat down next to me. Naturally, the mean waitress went right over to her. This also never fails to happen. In her thick accent, my new neighbor ordered a ‘Molson Treeple Equis” making the letter X with her hands.

Woah. It’s 8:30 in the morning, and grandma wants a beer. Nice!

Naturally, her beer is served right away. She raised the Molson XXX to me in a sort of salute, then drained half the bottle in one long gulp. I was gawking in astonishment, and clearly she knew it. I wished I had another invisibility pill to take.

With a shrug, she said, “I know eet ees eearly, but I hate to fly. I need thees cerveza for relax.” Grabbing her bottle of relaxation, she emptied it in one more long swig, slammed it down on the bar, turned to me and said, “I only weesh I have time for one mas. Oh well, I go to Mexico now. Adios.” With that, she got up and left.

All before I got my breakfast.

It’s BACK!

The little counter that keeps track of how many people read my silly rant has returned! The people over at Blogspot that provide the little counter have been having all sorts of problems with their database and whatnot, they claim they’ve been overwhelmed lately (no doubt in large part to the Faithful Fifteen!)

I am almost at 2000 visitors since September, not counting the 500 a day that weren’t tallied when the counter crashed.

The best way to get more visitors – maybe increase the Faithful Fifteen to the Tenacious Twenty or so – would probably to stop being so lazy and write something worth reading once in a while.

But then again, I can always just blame my dismal stats on the defective counter.

Flying alone, I’m always at the mercy of the airline’s “Seat Lottery”

The elusive grand prize in the seat lottery, equivalent to winning the Powerball jackpot, would be something like sitting next to a 21 year old redhead on her way to nymphomaniac reform school. Sadly, this never happens.

Second prize would be an empty row, or at least and empty seat to stretch out on.

Last prize, the one that I’m usually awarded, would be a rotund, sweat-soaked porker with armrest-encroaching folds of flab.

In an effort to boost my seat lottery odds, I usually change my seat when I check in, throwing off the airline’s carefully calculated lottery

Yesterday’s Northwest Airlines Seat Lottery results:

Providence to Detroit – An old British gentleman with bad teeth and worse breath. He greeted me with “Cheerio”, which set the tone for the whole trip. At least he chose Cheerios, because any other breakfast cereal, like “Frosted Flake” or “Lucky Charm” wouldn’t have made any sense at all.

Detroit to Milwaukee – Gadget guy. This guy spent ten minutes fumbling with his Ipod, his Playstation Portable, his Blackberry, and worst of all, his stupid flashing wireless earpiece. These ridiculous earpieces have pretty much replaced earrings in middle aged men. And lately I’ve noticed people walking around wearing these things even when they aren’t talking. But that’s a blog for another day.

Anyway, this guy almost delayed our flight turning off all of his electronic equipment.

I also won the booby prize on this flight. The redhead nympho ended up sitting in the row I switched out of.