Monday, April 28, 2014

Short North, Long North

I have a saying that I use at work: "Home is where you go to restore your humility."  The saying comes from the fact that I am in a very, very small minority at the office in that there are only two or three of us that can work "magic" with computers. There really isn't anything magical or ever all that special about our acumen with the recalcitrant little buggers; it's really more of a familiarity borne of years of hair-pulling frustration with their idiosyncratic habits.  This ability to seemingly wave my hands at a keyboard and bring a stubborn PC back to sanity appears every bit as miraculous to my co-workers as my ability to summon forth light and water does to young Cabot Bennett. Even knowing the genesis of the adulation and that it's relatively undeserved, it's not too hard to get a bit of a swelled head.  Fortunately, the people that really know you aren't fooled at all.

Amongst that crowd would be Co-pilot Egg, who to date has refused to ride in the airplane that her Dad built.  And who can blame her? Certainly not me!  I need only remind myself of the time that I thought to teach her how to jump start a car with a dead battery. I confidently strutted to the hood of my Miata, popped it open, and found.... no sign of a battery whatsoever.  After a prolonged search and a consultation with my oracle (who goes by the name of "Google") it was determined that a Miata battery is hidden deep in the bowls of the opposite end of the car.

The period when Dad goes from being the living embodiment of Google to an escaped Village Idiot is typically measured in weeks or months. I managed it in ten minutes.

But.... she finally acquiesced and deigned to ride along as far as Urbana, where we hoped to have lunch and bring home some pie for the Co-owner.

Despite the bumpy ride, it didn't take long for her to demonstrate the defining trait of The Selfie Generation:

My disdain was plainer that I might has imagined.

Here she is posing as a female fighter pilot:

She was far more exuberant about finally getting our canoe out on the water. We brought our fishing poles with us, but being the middle of the afternoon, they fish weren't biting. As I told Alluring Co-worker #2, that was because the fish only eat in the morning and evenings. She asked what they do for the rest of the day, to which I replied, "I think they spend most of the day in schools."

Genius to Village Idiot in thirty-two seconds. A new World Record, if I'm not mistaken.

Pursuant to my idea of being a tourist in the city I live in, we visited the Short North on Saturday evening.  I hadn't been there for years.
The Short North is a neighborhood in Columbus, Ohio, United States, centered on the main strip of High Street immediately north of downtown and extending until just south of the Ohio State University campus area. It is an easy walk from the convention center or Nationwide Arena district to the north. The Short North is often crowded on weekends, particularly during the monthly "Gallery Hop" and other local and downtown events. 
The Short North is heavily populated with art galleries, specialty shops, pubs, nightclubs, and coffee houses. Most of its tightly packed brick buildings date from at least the early 20th century, with traditional storefronts along High Street (often with brightly painted murals on their side walls), and old apartment buildings and rowhouses and newer condominium developments in the surrounding blocks. The city installed 17 lighted metal archways extending across High Street throughout the Short North, reminiscent of such arches present in the area in the early 1900s.
A couple of years ago, we went to Egg's high school graduation which was held at the convention center just south of the Short North. Egg drove separately and (long story short) managed to lose track of where she had parked her car. Once found, I suggested that in the future she should use her phone to look back and take a picture of a nearby landmark.

I thought that was good advice, so I did it myself.  Besides which, I thought the Hubbard looked like a great place to eat, primarily because I have an affinity for neon signage.  It didn't work out, though, due to the sophisticated (and expensive!!) menu.

You can't drink and drive, of course, but you can pedal...

This was one of the more colorful stores.

One of the pawns decided that close-order battle just wasn't his thing.  He's on his way home.

For the long north, I joined The Jackson Two for a formation flight up to Port Clinton for breakfast at the nifty diner (unsophisticated menu) at the airport.

Rules, rules, rules. That's what you get with a military motif.

They have a little museum there too.  This is an especially well armed Jeep.

OOoooh, half track!

Two little known facts: back in the day, (little known fact #1: that day was a Thursday) they invented the term we use today: riding shotgun.  (little known fact #2)

I think I can see where it came from.

I'm thinking I need one of these to improve my scores when trap shooting.

It seems like you can't have an airport restaurant in Ohio without also having a B-25.

They have added parking capacity since the last time I was there. It still won't be enough.

Back at the hangar and with rain in the forecast for the next few days, I started on some repairs. I have been absolutely terrible to the avionics cover. Not only did I bend it last time I took the canopy off, I compounded the problem by getting the spacing washers on the wrong side when I re-installed it, thus allowing the canopy to hook on the edge of the cover and rip it up.

The canopy had tp come off anyway to replace the broken lift strut.

So, no more flying for awhile. I'm going to contact the paint shop and see if they can give me some tips on how to use the touch-up paint they sent back with the plane.

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