Propane is Explosive

Propane is explosive.

Somehow, for the last 63.7 years, this knowledge has largely evaded me.  At least in a personal sense.

No more.

Yesterday, I thought I might grill some salmon on a cedar plank.  Before final preparations on the salmon, I pulled the cover off my barbeque grill, dragged the grill out from where keep it under a portico on my back deck, and twisted open the valve on the attached propane tank.  A few minutes later, with my salmon plank in hand, I stepped outside and headed to the grill.

On the right side of my grill is a metal work platform.  On the left is an outside burner under a metal lid that must be opened before burner use.  When I reached the grill, I placed the plank on the work platform, cranked open all four burners for inside the grill, and punched the spark igniter.

WOOF!

A sort of mini atomic explosion mushroomed up on the left side of the grill.  Heat and flames enveloped my left arm and brushed against my face.  I quickly reached down and turned off the burner valves.  Only then did I notice I had somehow inadvertently opened the valve for the outside burner when I pulled the cover off the grill several minutes earlier.

Thankfully, other than a few singed hairs on my wrist, I was fine.

After the incident, I got to thinking about how complacent we become around all sorts of explosive stuff.  Not just barbeque grills.  Gas stoves.  Heaters.  Torches.  Even automobiles.

Lesson learned.

Next time I grill something, I will invite Kevin up for dinner and have him start the grill.   

—Mitchell Hegman

Frank Zappa and Abraham Lincoln Eating Breakfast

Early one morning, Frank Zappa met Abraham Lincoln for an Egg McMuffin breakfast at McDonalds.  They sat at a table a table near a window talking and eating their food.

“I always admired your look in a stovepipe hat,” Frank Zappa remarked as he watched Abraham Lincoln unwrap his breakfast sandwich.  “Your distinctive appearance was shrewd branding on your part.”

“The hat was effective in keeping my head dry,” said Abraham Lincoln.  He took a bite of his sandwich and chewed a bit.  “How many calories are in one of these things, Frank?” 

Naturally, as a weird genius, Frank Zappa knew the answer.  “Three-hundred calories in an egg and cheese McMuffin.”

Abraham Lincoln nodded.  “I always admired your steadfast non-conformity, Frank.   While your music sometimes made me uncomfortable, I have found it entirely unforgettable.”

“Thank you, I think.”  Frank Zappa took a bite of his own breakfast sandwich.  “In a sense,” he added, “I suppose being unforgettable is the entire point.”

Abraham Lincoln nodded.  His hat greatly exaggerated the movement.

“I gave my children unforgettable names.  You set free the slaves.  A bold move, that.”

“Yep.”  Abraham Lincoln loudly crumpled his breakfast sandwich wrapper.  “I am thinking we could afford another McMuffin—from the standpoint of calories, I mean.  What do you think?”

“Music to my ears, Mr. Lincoln.”

“Ha,” Abraham Lincoln responded.  “Yes, everything is music to you.   And… music is everything to you.   Please allow me to buy another McMuffin for each of us.  Three-hundred calories.”

“Music again, sir” said Frank Zappa.

—Mitchell Hegman

The Quest for Good Luck

I have a story to tell.  A cautionary tale, if you will.  This is a story about luck.

My late wife was a constant practitioner of the art of feng shui.   In Chinese, the term “feng shui” literally translates as “wind-water.”  Long ago, Chinese builders began to apply certain rules or orientation, calculations, and layout in architecture to align buildings with larger forces they saw as binding the universe.

This can be incredibly complicated.  At heart, the idea is to bring good luck through healthy, conscious design.

My wife, to bring our house in compliance, made sure our bed faced east.  She was cautious about the placement of sharp objects such as scissors and knives.  She hung chimes with Chinese coins at the entry doors to our house (they are still there).  She placed mirrors face up in the toilet tanks for the purpose deflecting vital chi back up instead of allowing it to be pulled down and flushed away.

All fine with me.

And, yes, the mirrors still remain inside my two toilet tanks.

There are points, however, where the quest for good luck takes us down the opposite path.

The story I am about to share dates back to 2017.  In June of that year, an 80-year-old woman boarding a flight from Shanghai to Guangzhou, China, sought to bring good luck to the flight.  Her method for doing so was to fling a handful of coins toward one of the jet engines as she walked by on her way to enter the plane.

A note on that: coins inside jet engines are not good luck. 

Fortunately, another passenger alerted authorities.

The flight was delayed for five hours as mechanics were brought out to scour the jet engine.  In the end, they found one coin inside the engine and the rest scattered on the tarmac below.

The quest for good luck—as all things—has its limits.

—Mitchell Hegman

Source: https://mashable.com, Wikipedia

Morning Report: Halloween 2019

Woke very late, sprawled on my sofa.  The sun was already up and pressing light against every corner of my house.  My 20 pounds of housecat sat at the center of my living room, staring at me.  Inside my gut, something has been churning for the last two days.  It feels as though my internal organs have liquefied, expanded greatly.  Something at the end of my Manila adventure did not agree with me.

Home again.  Queasy.  Weak.

The expanse around my house white with snow.

Seeing me awake, my cat approached, pressed his cold nose against my hand where it lay exposed at the edge of the sofa.

Love you, buddy.  

—Mitchell Hegman

Flying against the Sun

Yesterday, leaving Manila and Desiree, I flew entirely against the sun to get home.

Well, partway home.

I made it as far as Seattle.  I had to overnight here, having arrived too late for connections to home.

I left Manila at 9:40 Tuesday morning, October 29, and flew 4 hours to reach Narita Airport in Tokyo.  After a 4-hour layover in Tokyo, I departed Narita at 6:45 PM, Tuesday, October 29.  I flew for 8 hours toward North America in the dark of night—racing to meet the sun, now hurtling toward me from around the Earth in the opposite direction.

Back across the International Dateline.  Backwards in time.

I arrived in Seattle at 11:30, Tuesday morning, October 29.  Technically, only 2 hours on the clock after I left Manila.

I think I managed about 2 hours of sleep on my night flight back to North America.  I also zonked-out for a bit in the afternoon in my hotel room.

As I sit writing this, the local time here is Seattle is 2:18 in the morning, Wednesday, October 30.  I woke at 1:15 AM after four hours of sleep.  I got up and made a cup of coffee after flopping around in bed for a while.

I cannot flip back to my normal times just yet.  I begin my day in this early morning.  Later today, I will fly back to my snowy, inland mountains.

Mostly, I am thinking about Desiree in the tropics a half-world away from here.

—Mitchell Hegman

“Street” Wiring in Manila

It’s impossible for me to go anywhere without spending a bit of time “admiring” the power and communications wiring along the streets.  Manila, as much of Southeast Asia, makes for some interesting studies.  On a trip to West Rembo, Makati City, Desiree’s neighborhood along the Pasig River, I took a few photographs of the wiring.

Most of the wiring falls under the category: “Hey! It works!”

Desiree under the Wiring

A Man in the Air

A Car under the Man in the Air

—Mitchell Hegman

My Chinese Dinner Experiment

Posted today is a photograph of a weird experiment I conducted yesterday.  For my experiment, I surrounded myself with a bunch of nice-looking Filipinos in a Chinese restaurant and then had our photograph taken by a waiter.

I should be pretty easy to spot here.

—Mitchell Hegman