7-2-09

The master of audio / video equipment almost meets his match

I’m a pretty smart guy. I know when to get out of the way of an oncoming car, I know when to come in from the rain and my wife has helped me learn how to shut my mouth at just the right moment. I also have a fairly good aptitude for figuring out how things work.
TV and stereo equipment have been a closet fetish of mine for a very long time. I have this uncanny ability to just look at the stuff and be able to follow input and output paths, read speaker impedance labels and I can also figure out how to set flashing clocks on VCRs.
Once in awhile my father would come home with a new TV, VCR or some other piece of audio/video equipment. Normally, he would just leave it in the box and wait until I came home. “Think you can hook this up?” Dad would ask.
“Wow, a new stereo... with 5 channel output and Dolby Pro Logic!” I would shout.
With a clueless look on his face, he would tell me to hook it up after dinner.
I haven’t changed at all to this day.
The somewhat new technology of being able to program and record shows and entire seasons on a video recorder that comes standard from Direct TV was a great addition to my collection of A/V equipment. This piece of equipment, however, has given me a little bit of trouble.
Maybe it is just a learning curve or maybe my skills are being phased out and I am slowly becoming one of those people who just can’t keep up with technology.
I think it is the learning curve.
Leigh and I have a few shows recorded and some have been programmed to record for the whole season. We haven’t watched them yet.
Not too long ago, we realized that there were some strange shows on our list that neither of us would ever watch.
I chalked it up to a mishap until Leigh and I were sitting down together one evening to watch a recorded program. She turned and looked at me and said, “When did you start recording cage fighting?”
“Uhhhhh, never.” I replied.
“And when did you start watching Days of Our Lives?”
My reply was the same.
We deleted them and watched the desired show.
Over a few weeks, we noticed more of the same thing happening. Strange shows at strange times showing up on our recorder. I also noticed the bright orange recorder light on while we were at home.
I would turn it off and thought either we had a ghost or a malfunctioning recorder.
One night, after the unit’s memory was full, I sat down and began to delete and reprogram.
The next morning was a Saturday and we were all relaxing and cartoons were on. The children were watching TV Leigh and I were enjoying the calm.
Leigh and I left the room for a moment and came back in. The recorder’s bright orange light was on again. A little bit angry at my time wasted the night before, I walked back to the room to tell Leigh that the recorder was still acting up and I was going to throw it out the window.
She laughed and I walked back out to the living room.
When I rounded the corner I quickly realized what was causing my dilemma.
A 22-month-old girl was laying on the book case in front of the A/V equipment pushing a bright orange button on and off.
Quickly, I leaned back and yelled down the hall to Leigh, “The recorder is fixed. I got it all figured out!”
I knew I could fix it.
Bryan Pinkey can be found reading his owner’s manual over and over while his daughter giggles or at bpinkey@nccox.com.

6-18-09

A schedule-free Father’s Day weekend is trumped by the honey-do list

Father’s Day and Mother’s Day were always special times in my family when I was growing up.
This was a time that my brother, sister and I would make cards for our parents, do chores to help them out, try our hardest not to argue and do our best to be on our best behavior.
I remember one year my father was asked, “What do you want for Father’s Day?” With a little bit of deep thought, he answered, “Good kids.” With a look of bewilderment and a brief pause I asked, “No. Seriously, something we can buy.”
That would have been a tall order, more fitting for his birthday or Christmas.
Now that I am a father, I completely understand. To have one full day of “good” kids, that would be awesome. A day of no running through the house, no fighting, no tattling, and “yes sirs” all day long.
Last year, Will and I planned a local horseback riding trip. When we do these trips we stay out all day and tend to come home worn out and tired. Early bedtime is soon to follow and a slow morning the next day.
With Leigh’s infinite wisdom, she decided to take the children to the beach for the Father’s Day weekend. I was going to be gone and worn out anyhow. We both figured that if they came back on Sunday morning, then we would have the same amount of family time as if they stayed home.
This year, Will and I planned another trip but wanted to head out to the mountains. We were going to leave on Thursday and come back Saturday night or Sunday afternoon.
Once again, Leigh planned her own trip. She and Will’s wife decided to take all of the children to D.C. for a long weekend. Hit the museums, take a tour of the Capitol and take in one of the best zoos in the nation.
Well, I found out recently that I will need surgery on my neck and my doctor told me to, “Go to work, come home, go to bed. Quit trying to be Evil Knievel for a few months.”
My horseback riding trip in the mountains was quickly shelved.
Leigh and the kids are still going to D.C. I would like to go but they are leaving on Thursday and I now need to save up my time off for recovery time.
Turning lemons into lemonade, I looked at the situation a little differently.
I have a weekend to myself. I can watch the History Channel and the Science Channel all weekend long. I can hop on my bike for the day and not feel guilty about leaving the family behind. I can sleep in late. I can eat junk food for dinner. This isn’t going to be so bad after all.
Having time alone might just be a great Father’s Day present after all.
Leigh asked me the other day, “I feel bad that you are going to be alone on Father’s Day weekend. Do you want us to stay home?”
I told her not to worry about it at all. I would be just fine and I then explained to her all of the benefits that I just mentioned.
“Well, if you are going to have time undisturbed, why don’t you fix the sink in the hall bathroom. Oh, and do you think you could take a look at the dryer vent in the laundry room. Maybe you could measure the wall, while you are in there, for some new shelves. You should also have a nice weekend to trim around the pond... If you want to.
It looks as though my plans have been changed for the weekend. It seems that I will be too tired in the evening to watch the History Channel.
For Father’s Day next year, I think I will just ask for good kids.
Bryan Pinkey can be found finishing his honey-do list or at bpinkey@nccox.com.

6-11-09

The call of my biggest fan can be heard from afar, “Haaaaay Daa-de!”

How many people can say that they hold rock star status. Not too many, but I can.
I have heard people say that the relationship between a baby girl and her daddy is something unique and special. On the radio, not too long ago, I heard the hosts talking about how excited one of their daughters got when he came through the door in the evening. He said that it was almost like he had been gone for a month the way she got so excited.
In the past, when I came home, it was a very lack-luster event. A “Hello, how was your day?” from my wife. Ethan, while staring at cartoons on the TV, would mumble a robotic “Hey.”
Now that my daughter is here, my greetings have escalated to pure enthusiasm. It is more along the lines of when a child knows that someone is bringing a present over to them.
The funny thing is that no matter where I go or how long I have been away, she is thoroughly excited when I come back in the room.
There are times that I leave for the afternoon on a Saturday and come back to the house a few hours later. As soon as I open the front door and head up the stairs, I can hear her little feet running through the house and making her way to the gate at the top of the stairs. All the while yelling, “Haaaaay Daa-de!” in a muffled speech with her pacifier dangling out of her mouth.
No matter how long I am out of her sight, the reaction is always the same.
If I take the trash out and come back in, “Haaaaay Daa-de!”
If I go to get something out of my car and come back in, “Haaaaay Daa-de!”
If I walk down the hall to go to the bathroom and come back in the room, “Haaaaay Daa-de!”
Slowly I have realized that Nash is a true daddy’s girl. She will sit on my lap in the evening and watch the History Channel with me when no one else will. She sits there spinning her pacifier around, switching it out only for a sippy-cup full of milk. She will stop, look up at me, and smile.
When I ask her, “Who loves their daddy?” She responds, “Meeeeeeee” or, “Mine do.”
As time goes by I know this rock star status will fade away and she is going to be interested in everything else but her daddy. For now I will take it all in. I love being the person that makes her so excited. I just hope I can live up to it when she gets older and realizes that I am just a dad and not a star.
I have a sticker on my motorcycle helmet that says, “Lord, let me be the person that my dog thinks I am.”
I think of her every time I read it, not that she reminds me of a dog, it just reminds me that I need all the help I can get in order to live up to her image of me.
A lot of time has passed since I was actually living like a rock star. The days of going to clubs all night to see bands play are a thing of the past. I miss them from time to time but things are different now.
A new corner in my life has been rounded. My whirlwind, rock star weekends consist of playing dolls, coloring, and watching Nemo.
Nash wouldn’t have it any other way and neither would I. After all, who wants to see a thirty-six year old try to act like a rock star... except Nash, of course
Bryan Pinkey can be reached at bpinkey@nccox.com.

6-4-09

A good dose of History Channel and ‘Jeopardy’ are cure for a noisy house

UREKA!
After all of these years. I have finally figured out the ingredients to a long sought after repellent. As soon as I get a pitch man, I am selling it.
Ever since my brother, sister and I were old enough to all want to watch something different on the television at the same time, there has been a constant struggle for viewing time and the remote control... well... control.
Now that I am married and have children of my own, it hasn’t changed.
Allow me to explain.
Nobody wants to watch what I want to watch, ever. My dad will, and sometimes my brother will but if you throw my mom, sister, and definitely my wife in the same room when I am sitting down and choosing the TV show to watch, well, let’s just say there is usually a mutiny at hand.
I had always been the black sheep in the family, until my sister came along. I was the one who got bad grades in school, didn’t like studying and always seemed to be getting sat down to have a “talk” with my dad.
The funny thing is that I was the one always watching National Geographic, Discovery Channel and that loved to watch Public Television.
My dad and I always found a common ground on this topic. No matter what we were up to, we could always find a comfortable spot in the den and get sucked into a show about the hunting and survival tactics of the South African prairie dog or some intriguing show of that sort.
As time has passed me by, probably from watching too much TV, I have come to realize that only the male species seems to get sucked into these types of shows - like a Star Trek tractor beam.
Whenever I flip the channel over from the news to let’s say, the History Channel, I notice that my family lets out a huge unified sigh and they all walk away.
For the longest time, I have tried to get them to understand that watching these shows broadens their horizons, allows them to interact in higher conversation and, most of all, allows them to answer more questions on Jeopardy.
These reasons haven’t moved them to sit on the couch with me.
They don’t like learning, I guess.
The other day I found myself turning on the National Geographic Channel to watch Planet Earth. I was looking forward to seeing this episode on the world’s deepest places. An hour devoted to exploring some of the deepest caves on the planet. How could you not want to see this?
Two minutes into the show, my family was nowhere to be found. Leigh was doing dishes, Nash was doing a wooden puzzle and Ethan had run to his room to draw a picture at his drafting table.
UREKA!
I figured it out. The first female-, child-, and lots of questions-repellent.
I was alone and watching my show. Enjoying it. It was quiet
I did it. I am selling my secret formula for $19.95 and if you act now I will throw in a 6 oz. bottle of my “Can I get you something while you watch your show” spray and a sample of my famous “yes, Daddy, I will take out the trash for you” balm while supplies last.
Try it, you’re sure to be satisfied.
Bryan Pinkey can be found in History Channel bliss or at bpinkey@nccox.com.

5-28-09

When you think of crabs, do you think Red Lobster?

Have I ever mentioned that I am originally from southern Maryland? Oh, that’s right. About a million times.
Yes, I am proud to be a Maryland boy. Born and raised, I bleed yellow and black. I actually know my state flower and bird; Black-Eyed-Susan and the Baltimore Oriole. Go O’s.
Now, before I get a horde of neighbors outside of my front door holding pitchforks and torches, let me say that I do love my new home in N.C.
If it wasn’t for the fact that Maryland houses the Chesapeake Bay, I wouldn’t be so married to my home state. You might ask, “What is it about Maryland and The Bay that keep you talking about it and boring us to death about it?”
Maryland blue crabs.
That’s it.
Crabs.
If you haven’t sat around a newspaper-covered picnic table on the Fourth of July with a bowl of drawn butter, Old Bay, a pile of steaming Silver Queen corn and your favorite beverage in a can or bottle, then you haven’t had the TRUE blue crab experience.
When I talk to others about eating crabs, they tell me, “ I love crabs. I could eat crab legs at Red Lobster all night long.”
I get a quick shiver down my spine and find myself trying to explain the difference between “eating crabs” and eating crab legs at Red Lobster.
Have you ever eaten a really tough and fatty piece of steak? Have you ever savored a perfectly cooked filet mignon?
Yes, they are that good.
Growing up in the Del-Mar-Va area, you grow up eating crabs. It is just a way of life.
As a child you sit at the “kid’s table” and eat the legs that the adults don’t want, corn drenched in butter and black pepper, make little sculptures with all of the discarded crab shells and make “potions” with all the different types of sauces, liquids and any other ingredient to make a stomach-turning concoction.
As you get older, you are allowed to take on a crab all by yourself. This only happens under the close watchful eye of an adult and experienced peeler. Usually a family member directs you down the path of proper crab peeling techniques.
Nothing is wasted and every part of the succulent bottom feeder is cracked open and mined of its tender meat.
In North Carolina, you have pig pickin’s. In Del-Mar-Va, we have crab feasts. They are so very similar in their order of operations and boyh strive toward the same goal.
Start preparing early, at least a week or two in advance. An order for the main course is called in and reserved. Friends and family are invited and the calendar is marked.
During the day of the event, there is usually a small group that just can’t wait. These are the ones that get together early to start preparing. They set up tables and chairs, pre-heat the grills and find the perfect spot for the horseshoe pit.
As family arrive, some gather around the grill and there are usually a handful of “pros” that instruct you and let you in on their “secret, award-winning, best way” to cook the pig or crabs.
It’s all part of the fun.
This is where the two events take different paths.
When the pig is done people line up, dress their plate and get a serving or two of their favorite cut of pork. The meal is finished, some dessert is ingested and then we push away from the table to make room for our stuffed bellies.
A crab feast, on the other hand goes a little like this.
Everyone gets a comfortable seat around the newspaper-covered table. The cook dumps a large stock pot full of steaming crabs into the middle of the table and those in front of the pile pass out crabs to the left and right of them.
A hush usually falls upon the table and is followed a few minutes later by a round of “oh-man” and “Mmmmmm” as the first taste of backfin meat graces the crowd’s mouths.
This process is repeated for about four hours. I am not kidding. Three to four hours is an average length of time set aside to eat crabs. I’m not talking about cooking and then visiting afterwords. I mean just eating.
It is very important to keep your cooler next to your seat, a personal roll of paper towels in front of you and try to position yourself at the table so that it is difficult for you to get up. This is a strategy I employ to keep everyone from asking me to get them this or that.
This is why it is so important to be around good friends and family, have plenty of time on hand and have activities for the youngsters to do so that the adults can enjoy the feast to it’s fullest.
I am not knocking the pig pickin’ at all. I enjoy attending and cooking all the same. I just love my blue crab tradition. When summertime comes around, I tend to think about nothing else but crabs until I finally get to a table of ‘em piled high. I don’t even care if I have to sit at the “kids table.” I’m just ready for crabs.
Bryan Pinkey can be found pacing the docks impatiently waiting for the crab boats or at bpinkey@nccox.com.

5-21-09

Summer road trip adventures are just around the corner, just add 1 large car

Summer is coming, it’s just around the corner. How do I know this? It says so up top.
This is the time that the outside air smells the best. Fresh cut grass can be smelled all over. Flowering trees permeate the air, and during the first five minutes of a summer rain, the pavement expels a distinct aroma that makes me think of driving long distances.
Yes, folks, it’s road trip season.
About this time every year, I start to think about the joys of hopping into a large vehicle and hitting the highway.
There is something soothing about the sound of the road when you know that you have nine hundred miles and two days ahead of you. Add in all of the truck stop drink and bathroom breaks and the “scenic route” detour that adds 2 hours to the trip and a lifetime of memories and stories to tell.
When I was in first grade, I went on my first memorable road trip. For five weeks or more, dad, mom my sister, Jess (who was about 1 1/2 years old at the time) and myself, drove from our home in Maryland and ended up in San Diego, California.
My father was in the Navy at the time and had active duty in Gulf Port, Mississippi. This was going to be our midway destination and our home for two weeks where we stayed with my grandparents.
I remember being young and thinking that it was strange but exciting to be temporarily living in a different house for two weeks. I went grocery shopping in different stores, went out to eat in different restaurants, went to different parks, flew a kite with my dad and uncle on the shore of the Gulf of Mexico and even made it to New Orleans for the day and kicked pigeons and wandered into a strip club when my parents weren’t looking. Don’t worry, the bouncer shooed me back out the door laughing before I could see anything bad, or good.
When Dad was done with his “Ac-Dutra”, we continued west. From Mississippi we traveled to my father’s uncle’s house in Oklahoma. We only stayed the night, there but I vividly remember wearing an authentic Indian Chief’s head dress that he had hanging beside his fireplace.
We then visited the Grand Canyon. I ended up back there three more times on three different road trips after this trip. It’s that amazing.
There are pictures of me, somewhere, running with a Navajo Indian boy that was the same age as me. Mom said that I told everyone that “I played with a ‘Hobo’ Indian.”
Close enough.
His mother was selling turquoise jewelry on the side of the road at a scenic pull off. We didn’t speak the same language but we both knew how to play and laugh.
San Diego. We made it. Dry, beautiful weather and a huge beautiful zoo.
Aunt Nora took us in for I can’t remember how long. What I do remember is that we were sitting in a hot tub one night and hearing that a blizzard hit the DC area with four feet of snow. My parents thought it was great to be in the warmth of California while everyone back home was freezing and running out of power. I, on the other hand, was mad. All of my friends were at home playing in an unimaginable amount of white powder.
I have now turned a short story into a long one. I think what I am trying to say is that this is the time to pack the family up, pick a destination and hop in the truck.
Smell the smells of different states. Buy groceries in a different store. Collect rubber magnets that are in the shape of each state that you pass through. Eat lunch at roadside diners in the middle of nowhere... and get someone to take a picture of you all standing out front.
Make it an adventure. The memories that can be made from even a three-day weekend will live with you for a lifetime.
Believe me, I still look through my photo album of the time that I bought a ‘78 Caddy and drove across country by myself when I was 22. My family and I still look at the slides from our San Diego trip on a large projector screen when the mood hits us. My friend Steve and I still talk about driving from Arizona back to Maryland in two days. Leigh and I talk about all of our trips from Boston to Maryland and North Carolina.
A lifetime of memories, I tell you. A lifetime.
Bryan Pinkey can be found mapping out his next trip and searching for that next Caddy or at bpinkey@nccox.com.

5-14-09

Hitchcock and Jimmy Stewart were ahead of their time

I recently logged into Facebook. I swear that these social networking sites are going to be the downfall of mankind.
People don’t write letters to each other anymore. There are less phone calls and more e-mails than probably should be allowed. Personal contact is at an all-time low.
A year or so, ago, my friend Steve and I were talking about friends of ours that were on Myspace and Facebook and how it is a huge waste of time, impersonal and generally stupid.
We are very cynical and “holier-than-thou” like that when we get together. Don’t judge.
I have a couple of good friends that I have lost touch with over the years and have tried everything except hiring a Bogie style private eye to track them down.
One day, a light bulb turned on. Everyone seems to be on Facebook, Maybe they are, I will see if I can find them there.
I signed my soul over to the site and never told Steve.
Quickly, I found one of my friends. “That was easy.” I thought to myself. One down, two to go.
During my endeavor to find these friends, I found other friends with which I also had lost contact.
One thing I noticed while I perused the Facebook site and “talked” with my friends is that people talk about anything and everything. The other thing that I noticed is that you can keep up with your “friends” and know what they are up to without even talking to them.
Talk about no personal contact.
I have learned more about fellow high school students, friends, and friends of those friends than I ever thought I would know.
One evening while I was having a bout of insomnia, I was thinking about all of these people that I had not talked with in over 15 years. We have all lived our lives, found careers, had families and are trying to grab a little bit of the good ol’ days through the process.
The other thing that I thought about was that it sort of reminded me of a movie I once saw.
Alfred Hitchcock wrote a little story about a man who broke his leg and spent his time looking out of his apartment’s rear window.
L. B. Jeffries, who was played by Jimmy Stewart, would watch his neighbors in the apartment complex behind his building by looking into their back windows.
The neighboring building was about the same size as his and he could see what everyone was doing in their own apartments.
Intrigued, L. B. spent his days watching the daily activities unfold. He would catch a glimpse of someone and could piece together stories of their lives through the short spurts of visual contact that he had with them. It was almost like he was watching multiple TV dramas unfold in every window.
He witnessed what he thinks is a murder, which is where the suspense comes in, but that is irrelevant right now.
You might be asking yourself, “Where is he going with this?”
While logged into Facebook, you can see the conversations that your friends are having and not even have to talk to anyone.
Now, this is sort of nice in the sence that you can “check in” on your friends and be up to speed as to how their day is going, if they had a bad day at work or what they are eating for dinner.
This site allows you to “look in” on each friend whenever you want and, as long as they feel like sharing their thoughts, you can peek into their “window,” just like Jimmy Stewart did.
There is a big voyeuristic pleasure in “checking in” on your friends. I know what they are doing and I can chime in when I feel like it and I can let them look into my “window” whenever I want.
Now yes, we are all in contact with each other. We are doing it in an impersonal fashion but staying in contact none the less.
I don’t think that the website will ever take the place of a good old fashioned phone call or a letter, but it is fun to keep up this way. Staying in touch with friends is nice anyway you slice it.
So, I guess I can live with myself for signing onto Facebook. After all, I’m still looking for my lost friends. If I happen to look in on some friends to see what they are up to, who could it hurt?
It’s not like anyone will get killed.
Bryan Pinkey can be found peeking in on his friends lives or at bpinkey@nccox.com.