Keeping Rolling Rolling Rolling Rolling

Last night I watched Furious Seven with the missus; the latest (and probably final) installment in the modern The Fast and The Furious franchise, staring Vin Diesel and the late Paul Walker. Number seven was as good as number one, but different. I think I missed, or passed, on five and six.

Going back through the Furious adventures (via a nice tribute at the end of the film), I thought back through all the years of this blog and all its adventures, and how life has thrown one curve after another. Such is the ride that is life.

I've experienced blow-outs, burn-outs, crashes, citations, cruises, tuning, boosts, sideswipes, sabotage, losses, victories, and even switched cars a few times. I'm sure you have had your share of some of those too.

I'll be moving from the city this blog was birthed, in a couple of months. As part of this move, I'll be keeping some things, donating some things, recycling some things, and tossing out some things. I'm donating Epotlounge to you, with no more tuning (i.e. new posts). It's been maxed out. :). Thank you all for riding with me over these past seven years. Keep rolling, rolling, rolling, rolling!

What Would You Grab In a Fire?

I was lucky. The apartment building where my children were born in had smoke detectors so sensitive that we all got to practice fire drills often over the first months living there.

Typically, it was just someone leaving food on the stove too long.

We got so good, that when the real fire came a year later, practice made perfect.

We had already agreed with the kids on a rally point; where to go once you're out of the house and where everyone meets.

So, what did we take?

1. Keys
2. Wallet / Purse
3. Mobile Phone
4. Office laptop bag
5. Document bag (with IDs)

Truth is, one through three is really the best you can hope for, without practice. One through three are typically together if not on your person, which helps.

Four and five, everyone knew to grab based on our practices, if they hadn't been grabbed already. Also, five can fit into four, and four can be carried over the shoulder and across the chest, leaving hands free.

Designate a household fire marshal, who is the last to leave and makes sure everyone is out, and makes sure everyone is at the rally point. By my rough estimate from our practices, every adult had no more than 30 seconds, and every child no more than one minute. Add all the minutes, and that's how long from the time the alarm blares, until everyone must be out of the house; maximum. Once that time it reached, the fire marshal moves anyone remaining out of the house and leaves for the rally point.

There are sites and pamphlets on fire safety, but my impression is that if they are ever read, their contents are seldom practiced.

Again, do practice, and make sure your kids know the drill. Every alarm is different, and you never know which one will be the one. You may have more, or less time than you think. It's all theory until the $#!+ hits the fan. Then, it's what you practiced that counts.

image from commons.wikimedia.org

Ashes to Ashes, Dust to Dust

I performed an unintentional exercise in mortality awareness last week. What you see is all that will remain of me in the end, from a biological standpoint.

I was underwhelmed to say the least. All that hassle and this will be all that's left. Then I smiled, realizing that at least I'm recyclable. Plus, it's a healthy dose of humility. A reminder not to take myself too seriously.

Regardless of what you believe in, do remember to enjoy the journey, stop to reflect on your trip, and checkout the scenery.

Fasting From Mobile and Social Media

Yep. I knew I could do it. Although, it was tough the first week. No social media or non-public mobile news for three weeks. This included (unintentionally) anything that would typically trigger a notification to social media, like this blog. Sorry.

Of course, I have a generational advantage, which I think makes it easier for me. I clearly remember life before the World Wide Web. What I didn't expect was all the free "mental" space that fast would provide. It was as if someone turned down, to volume one, all the white noise in the state. I experienced better sleep, less tension, and (yes) more time. I was generally in a better mood.

Some things I'll keep: no more mobile news.

Yeah, the better sleep, less tension, and more time too.

When you stop looking for some thing...

...is usually when it finds you.






image from itisdschools.org

A Tale of Two Policings

It was the better of pullovers, it was the worse of pullovers. Rewind to the early 1990s and my first car. A Boston cop pulled me over on the corner of Newbury Street and Mass. Ave. It was a summer afternoon and the city was bustling with traffic, construction, and people. He came over, politely greeted me, and asked if I knew why I was pulled over. I told him, no.

He told me my inspection sticker was expired. Something in my eyes must have asked, and how is that a moving violation, because he briefly explained that driving without a valid inspection sticker was not only a violation (moving or otherwise), but (very important if you're a broke a$$ student) also a three-point surchargeable event (read: you just made your insurance company richer).

I told him I planned to get it done the end of the week when I took my car in for service. He went back to his cruiser. About five minutes later, on his way back he yelled that he was going to let me go with a warning. When he was about halfway over, his radio went off with some new business. He quickly brought over the citation, and told me to get it taken care of as soon as possible. He ran back to his cruiser. As he stepped in, he smiled at me, and told me to have a nice day. He then got in, busted a u-turn, and was out.

Almost exactly twenty-four hours later, thirty seconds from home in Cambridge, I got pulled over. Damn! I thought. Friday couldn't come quick enough. The cop came over right by my inspection sticker and asked if I knew why I was pulled over. I told him, yes, my inspection sticker. I got pulled over for it yesterday. I showed him my Boston citation, still in the car, and told him I was planning to get it taken care of tomorrow (Friday). That's no excuse he told me abruptly. He walked back to his cruiser. Five minutes, ten minutes, fifteen minutes passed. I could feel the dread well up within me. I was on the most quiet stretch of my street and no one was around but me and this cop.

It doesn't take this long to write a ticket I thought. I wished he could just give it to me so at least I could be on my way, as mom was expecting me. Now I was late. Finally twenty minutes had passed and he was walking back. I was ready for me ticket. However, he didn't give me a ticket. He gave me an inspection test.

Press you horn he told me.
What? I responded.
Press your horn! I did.
Right signal.
I did.
Left signal.
I did.

He then stepped to the rear of my car. At this point, I got scared that this could be one of those things I saw on the news. Nobody was around, and this could go all wrong.

Press your brakes, he barked from the rear.
I did.
Again.
I did. I looked to my mom's complex, thinking, she's going to kill me for being late.

Then I saw a tall black, statue of a man at the top stair of my friend's townhouse. I could only see his silhouette, but the muscular stance was unmistakable. My friend's dad stood watching. He knew my car, by at least how much time his son spent working on it, and he was watching hard. Thank you Jesus, I thought. At least if $#!+ went down, there would be a witness. Or at least someone to tell my mom.

The cop came back towards the front of the car, looked through the rear windows, and to the under-body of the car. Now thirty minutes into the stop, he give me the $50 ticket and left. I waited until the cop was well out of site, before I exhaled and drove into my complex. My friend's dad intercepted me before I reached the parking lot.

Everything okay? He asked me in his Trinidadian accent. I saw, he said knowingly.
Yes sir, I told him. Inspection sticker.
He grunted, looked down and nodded. It's okay. Go on, he said, gesturing in the direction of my mom's place.

image from dreamtimes.com

What are you #Thanksgiving?

• I woke up this morning and everything that's me works; mileage notwithstanding 
• There's probably still more food than I can eat for breakfast in the fridge
• Heat's working
• Working today, with the option to do it remotely
• The missus secured the bedroom so I could sleep in, until (wait for it) almost 8 a.m.
• Got to wish pops happy birthday 
• And of course, much more, including clean underwear ;)