Indulgence

For those of you that don’t have to spend time with engineers, consider yourself very, very fortunate. For those of you that do spend time with engineers, you have my deepest and most sincere apologies…

As many of you know, I'm a Structural Engineer. Structural Engineering is a specialty within Civil Engineering and I describe it as "figuring out how to keep buildings from falling down, and figuring out what happened when they do fall down." Others have more eloquently described Structural Engineering thusly:

“Structural Engineering is the art of modeling materials we do not wholly understand, into shapes we cannot precisely analyze so as to withstand forces we cannot properly assess, in such a way that the public has no reason to suspect the extent of our ignorance."

That definition is a little tongue-in-cheek, but there is also some truth in it.

My personal definition of Structural Engineering centers on two basic fundamentals:

Newton’s First Law:

A body at rest remains at rest, unless acted upon by an external force (kinda sounds like me during football season).

Newton’s Third Law:

For every action, there is an equal and opposite reaction (push forward against your desk and your chair rolls backwards)

These simple definitions have worked well for me in 27 years of structural engineering practice. I have been fortunate enough to perform design work on structures all over the United States (some of which you may have visited at one time or another), to conduct condition assessments of buildings after some horrible disasters (Hurricane Andrew and the Oklahoma City bombing), and to preserve some nationally significant historic buildings. I also have been fortunate enough to work with several very talented and outstanding people, some of whom are readers of this blog.

So far, during the course of my career, I have cumulatively spent over one year away from home on business, assessing buildings or visiting construction sites. My family has always been patient and understanding, and I am so grateful for that. Thank-you S and C and K.

Today I found out that, after a semi-rigorous evaluation process, I have become a Board Certified Structural Engineer. I am only the 12th Structural Engineer in my home state to attain this certification, and one of about 1000 Structural Engineers nation-wide.

I’m a lucky man, indeed!

Mutlimedia Humor

Welcome to the first multi-media edition of Suburban Rogue …

One of my favorite characters on television is MADtv’s Coach Hines, played by Keegan-Michael Key. Here is one of the better sketches, notice the blue “coaching shorts” ca. 1972…

Coach Hines

It’s that spring break time of year and this video reminds us to always pay attention to the lifeguard….

Lifeguard

I was recently accused of being a nerd. I always thought I fell more in the dork category, but maybe not. Anyway, I found this video that might help explain a few things…

The Knack

Be kind with your comments, or I will be forced to post my copyrighted engineers’ lecture. Not only is it informative, it is also a guaranteed cure for insomnia…

Permission

To celebrate the upcoming 50th anniversary of my birth, Mrs. R and I have decided to spend a long weekend on the Yucatan Peninsula, about 30 minutes south of Cancun.

I mean, let’s face it; they don’t call me "Mr. Spontaneity” for nothing.

Oh wait, actually they don’t call me that for anything. "Mr. Somebody Check His Pulse Is He Still Breathing?” is more like it.

After talking with a co-worker one day I came home singing the praises of Cancun, a place that I had never been to before. A couple of days later we made the arrangements and were set to go. Well almost anyway.

There was the small matter of getting permission to leave from, and then return to, the good ol’ US of A. We needed to get passports, which is a much easier sentence to type than to actually accomplish.

Mrs. R is a naturalized citizen, having been born in Stuttgart. We were unable to find her birth certificate, but we did locate her citizenship papers and her expired passport from when she was a teenager.

Me? I’m 'merican. Born right here in Colorado. Even got the birth certificate, complete with a footprint, as proof. (On a side note, it is difficult to imagine that my feet were ever that small.) What could possibly go wrong?

We had our passport photo’s taken, (apparently senior pictures from high school are not acceptable), filled out the paperwork and headed to the post office. We were both a little apprehensive because we were anticipating having difficulties with Mrs. R’s application. Boy, were we wrong.

We patiently waited our turn in line, and then went into the little room at the post office. We were friendly, polite, ingratiating, and reverential to the clerk. As a bureaucrat myself, I know how effective this can be…

It worked! Mrs. R’s application sailed though without any trouble. Phew, that was a close one…

Then the clerk looked at my paperwork, sniffed, and gave me that “stern, over the top of her reading glasses look,” and said “Is that your birth certificate?”

“Yes” I meekly replied.

“Well it’s not going to work.”

“What do you mean?” I asked.

You need an official one from the state,” she said. “Too many forgeries these days.”

Although I was confused as to why someone would want, or need, to forge my footprint, I gamely fought back.

“It’s from the hospital were I was born, just up the road a bit. It’s got my foot print and everything.”

In attempt to provide proof that my birth certificate was not a forgery, I took off my shoe and sock, and placed my foot on the counter. Snapped a hamstring when I did it, too.

Well, for some reason the clerk took offense to this, and I was escorted from the building, sans one shoe and one sock, and asked not to return until I had “cooled off for 24 hours, or the restraining order expires, whichever comes first.”

So Mrs. R and I headed to a soulless, antiseptic “Office of Vital Records” building, where, for just $17, I got an “official” copy of the document I already had in my hand.

The next day I went back to the passport office, waited in line, got back in front of the same clerk, who declared that my paperwork was now in order. It was when she asked to see my drivers license that I realized I had left my billfold back at my desk at work.

Anyway, to make a long story longer, after three trips to the passport office, my application was duly stamped, notarized, and fed to the system.

Noithin’ to it….

The Good, The Bad, and The Ugly

Time for some more ranting.

As was originally reported in the August 5, 2007 edition of Suburban Rogue , “I have noticed that a lot of my mishaps seem to involve food.”

OK, I have to say that I’m tired of being graded on my food choices by wait-staff. I have enough trouble in my life just trying to get my socks to match and make sure my shirt is tucked in. I don’t need my menu selections critiqued.

Recently I went to lunch with a friend who ordered some kind of chicken thingy. The waitress applauded the selection and said “That is an excellent choice; it is one of the best things on the menu. You obviously know a great deal about food, are wise beyond your years, and are a likely candidate for sainthood.”

The waitress then looked at me and asked to take my order. Beads of sweat began to form on my brow, and my stomach began to churn. It was that same feeling I remember from the third grade when I got called on to present my book report that I hadn’t done…

I thought about, in order to show my sophistication, ordering Steak Tartar medium-well, but decided not to because of the whole cholesterol thing. So, in a quivering voice, I said “I’d like the turkey sandwich on whole wheat, with a side of coleslaw.”

Well, I got a “Hmmm, interesting choice” and watched the waitress turn and walk away, shaking her head, pointing at our table and saying something to make the other restaurant employees and patrons laugh.

Humiliated, I ate my lunch in silence as my friend was celebrated for making such a wonderful lunch choice. I have to admit the fighter jet flyover and parade were a bit much for just ordering a chicken thingy…

There is an epidemic sweeping my office.

Do I like it? No.

Do I hope it will end soon? Yes.

In case you haven’t figured it out, the epidemic it is known as Interviewyourselfitis.

Most of the big shots at my office are afflicted with this malady, and it is most apparent during large meetings where they have to speak. It’s an effective technique, and can give the illusion of allowing audience participation as in:

“Do I think our budget is adequate? No.”

“Will the budget pressures ease by the end of the quarter? Yes.”

Couple this kind of self-involvement with referring to yourself in the third person and it won’t be long before you have a spot as a talking head on cable TV.

For example, Jim may say:

“Does Jim think our production level was acceptable last month? No.”

“Does Jim believe it will be higher this month? Yes.”

There is no known cure…

And finally, this story from South Florida.

It seems the Florida Marlins are looking for a few good round men to form a cheerleading squad.

Marlins Cheerleaders

It’s good to know that there is now a place for guys built like me in professional sports…

Super Sunday

Thoughts and observations about Super Bowl Ex-Ell-Eye-Eye…

1. Tom Brady is handsome, athletic, articulate, humble, wealthy, and has a super model for a girlfriend. Other than that, he really doesn’t have much going for him.

2. This was the first Super Bowl played on a tray. That’s right folks, the field at the

University of Phoenix Stadium is a giant steel tray that can be moved out of one end of the stadium. There’s a lot of very interesting structural engineering that went into the design of the tray, but who wants to hear about that right now?

3. The architecture of the stadium is supposed evoke a barrel cactus. I have been to the Sonoran Desert many times and have never seen a stainless steel barrel cactus.

4. Is the University of Phoenix a real university?

5. In preparation for the game I purchased two 52 oz.

Bubba Kegs .

6. The best commercial that I saw was the Cavmen/Wheel ad. Very funny stuff.

7. Eli Manning looks like he is 19 years old. The kid can play though…

8. Tom Petty, who does not look like he is 19, can also play…

9. To all football announcers, everywhere: It will always depend on the spot. 100% of the time. No matter what...

Suburban Rogue XXXIV

With the Super Bowl coming up I thought I’d name this issue of Suburban Rogue using Roman Numerals. It’s the XVIIth best idea I ever had.

I’ve observed a lot of unusual things in the past couple of months and I’ve been delaying writing about them because I couldn’t seem to organize them into a coherent, well written narrative. Then, I thought, “Why worry about that now…”

So here goes…

I was at the grocery store recently when I passed a petite 30-ish woman doing overhead presses with two six-packs of V8 juice and talking to herself while briskly walking down the aisle. I also noticed she had very well defined biceps and triceps. So I now drink V8 juice, but it’s V8 light, since I’m not strong enough to do the overhead presses with the regular version.

The other day Mrs. R and I were at the local mall when we observed a man standing beside his pick-up truck while swinging a baseball bat. In January. In Colorado. His wife had their laptop out on the hood of their SUV, which was parked facing their pickup, and she was busily searching for directions. I offer no explanation for this, other than to say this couple had to be related to Delbert and Nadine, whom we met in the November 5, 2007 edition of Suburban Rogue .

Speaking of Delbert and Nadine, it’s time for another coveted Designating Underachievement in Marketing By Advertisers Selling Stuff (DUMBASS) Award. This weeks’ category is fast food, and the winner is Kentucky Fried Chicken for their new Hot Wings commercial:

We see a young lady bite into a hot wing and exclaim “Whoa. Didn’t see that coming.” I guess that’s a natural reaction when you bite into a hot wing and it, you know, tastes like a hot wing…

Earlier this year there was some tough weather up in the mountains, and heavy snows resulted in some avalanches that closed I-70 for a day or so, and stranded several dozen travelers. A local news anchor, in his gravest news anchor voice, intoned, “The avalanches were due to bad weather.” No kidding? Thanks for the insight there, Captain Obvious.

I saw a commercial on TV the other day for a product called Kinoki Foot Pads . Apparently you stick these things to the bottom of your feet right before bed, and toxins are magically drawn from your body, and collected on the pads. Hmmmmm, seems a little suspicious to me. What was it that P.T. Barnum said?

It’s also that time of year when nominations for Mother, Father, and Family of the Year start rolling in. Here are the early contenders:
Mother: To the mom who sent both of her kids to a local elementary school with ear infections and strep throat because, well, she had to go to work. Way to step up there mom!

Father: To the dad we saw at a local restaurant reading the newspaper while his two young daughters ate lunch. Hard to believe a guy with communication skills like that only gets to see the kids every other weekend…

Family: To the family at the local mega-warehouse store for looking to the future. When Junior asked if he could have a book, Mom said “You never read those damn books!” And Dad chimed in “You can use your own money to buy books. We’re only going to buy you the essentials.”

The future is bright, indeed…

Confusion...

You can’t make this stuff up…

One evening, a month or so ago, I decided to run a quick errand. In my haste to leave, I left my cell phone sitting on the couch. Usually I just leave myself sitting on the couch, but that’s a topic for another blog.

I was gone longer than expected and Mrs. R became concerned that maybe I had developed car trouble and needed some help, so she decided to call me. She was sitting about 6 feet away from where I left my phone when she dialed my number.

Apparently my phone rang immediately after she dialed, and Mrs. R thought it was strange that someone else would be calling me at exactly the same time as she was, but she also knew that I was expecting a couple of calls. So Mrs. R answered my phone. It was very thoughtful of her, and I’m sure she had a nice conversation with herself…

What goes around comes around…

This past weekend, I went to the local building supply store to get some stuff, but mostly because I was running low on testosterone. Mrs. R said she might go visit her friend and run a couple of errands while I was gone.

I came home and unloaded the supplies to the backyard. Marci, our Golden Retriever, was excited to see me outside and was whining and generally making a nuisance of herself, and demanding to come outside with me. It’s really kind of annoying when she does this, and if you’re inside while it’s going on it’s impossible to ignore.

Anyway, a few minutes later I was standing in the garage on the exact spot where Mrs. R parks her car, you know, when she’s home, when my phone rang. It was Mrs. R, and she wanted to know if I was home yet.

“Yes” I said disgustedly, “I’m standing in the garage. How could you not know I’m here with all of the racket Marci is making?”

“I’m at the library honey. I’ll be home soon,” Mrs. R patiently explained. “Oh, and don’t forget to take your medicine. It’s on the counter…”

And now, for the encore performance…

One of our cats recently developed a problem that requires Mrs. R and me to give her an IV on a regular basis. We were at the Vets’ office for about an hour where they patiently trained us on how to do this relatively simple procedure. It was decided that Mrs. R would be the “needle-sticker-inner” and I would be the “cat-holder-downer.” We were told that it was very important for the inner workings of the IV bag to be kept sterile and to remember to change the needle before each use. It all seemed like sound advice to us.

The very next day, we were ready. To hang the IV, I had fashioned a hook from an old wire clothes hanger (it seemed important to us to have all four hands available) and we had converted to kids’ bathroom into a “treatment room.” All that was left to do was to change the needle and get going.

At this point I think it’s important to note that needles in the veterinary medicine world are every bit as sharp as needles in the human medicine world…

When Mrs. R tried to pull the needle out of the tube that runs from the IV, the protective cover came loose and she sliced her finger, at which time it started to bleed. I asked if she was OK, and she said yes, despite the drops of blood on her blouse.

I then offered to remove the needle, and being a “visual learner” I promptly sliced my finger in the exact same way as Mrs. R had.

Uh, one thing we forgot when we set up the treatment room was to stock it with basic first aid supplies.

So now we have two bleeding adults, an unharmed cat in desperate need of the IV, and no way to stop the bleeding fingers. Our options were to go downstairs and get some bandages, or call 911. We chose the former. So, while I stood in the bathroom with a Kleenex wrapped around my finger as I held it above my head, the wounded Mrs. R bravely went and found first aid supplies.

We were then able to successfully treat each others injuries, get the needle changed, and give the cat her IV.

I’m glad to report that the cat is doing just fine, but Mrs. R and I have a couple of sore fingers…