Thursday, December 30, 2010

Your New Year's Goal

  Soon we begin a new year. It’s an exciting time, and a great time for setting goals. We here at the Amish Viking believe that goals should be achievable and concise. I have taken it upon myself to set forth a goal for you the reading public. (I thank all 28 of you. We almost have enough readers for one reader a day for a month. To celebrate I have contacted your local municipality and organized a firework display in your honor Friday night around 11.58, enjoy).
  Here is the goal. Draw a picture of the Amish Viking. I would like this blog to take on a whole new dimension. Since I don’t have money for those 3D special effects I will do it this way. I would like for you to illustrate the Amish Viking as described in the stories. Or create a scene and I’ll see if I can create a worthy story. I have no idea how this will work. I also do not know much about putting pictures up in the blog or how to give credit to the illustrator. I will be looking for help.
  There are a few things I do know, some illustration boundaries if you will. They pertain to the Amish Viking and his look. Like the real Amish, He has no facial features. Like the real Vikings, He has a big red beard and wears big black boots. He likes simple clothes that can best be categorized as “Sand Goth.” The term “Sand Goth” was dubbed by my niece this past Christmas. (Copy right laws forbid me from naming her, but she knows who she is). Put simply he likes tan in all its hues. But his is able to wear other colors.
  Each picture will be a one pane celebration of whimsical story telling. Do not take too long to create it. I realize I cannot control your creative process, beyond the above mentioned illustration boundaries, but I don’t want you to spend more time on the picture that I do on the stories. Sketch something, come back to it later in the day, make adjustments, and then send it to me.
  I do not want spam or uninvited correspondence. To send your picture to my email you have to figure out the address. Look at the top of this page and choose the most obvious email name, its provided by that really big search engine that rhymes with schoogle. This is the first test to see if you can be part of the blog. It is also the hardest part. At this point I plan to post the pictures that I receive. (If I find them offensive or inappropriate I will simply delete them). If this gets really big I might have to create more boundaries, our illustration committee is prepared to deal with that if it ever happens. They have been asking for something to do for months.
  Your goal for the new year is to draw a picture of The Amish Viking and send it to the email that you think theamishviking might have. G isn’t eMail nice.
  I hope this proves fun for all of us. We’ll adjust as we go.

Thursday, December 23, 2010

Replacement Clothes

  At this point in my life I have learned a few things that I would now like to share for your edification. As the year is coming to an end I am reflecting on my life and habits. Here are a few things to keep with you and ponder for yourself.
   I’ve learned that it is a good idea to spend money on quality sheets. You spend many hours in them, go ahead and get the high thread count. I know how to control a team of horses (keep the strongest in the middle) and my way around small engines (hire someone else). And I have learned it is not wise to raid a Monastery. For real, those guys are disciplined and tenacious. You may well be successful, but the guilt will linger.
  I have also learned in my thirty and some years that I do not need new clothes. What I need are replacement clothes. When my tan pants get all scruffy at the cuff because they are slightly too long and sometimes get wet and stepped on by my heel, I don’t want a new or different pair of pants. I want the same pair of pants, just not scruffy. And when the t-shirts that I wear every day get those dark marks in the arm pit that won’t go away with washing (it happens to yours too so just back off), I do not want a new style. I want the same brand, same size, same color, and same softness as the other shirt.
  This realization became clear to me the other day when I was considering purchasing new boots. I realized that I did not want just any boots, I wanted the boots that I had 15 years ago. Those were great boots. They were durable enough for kicking around the farm, and tough enough to strike fear when boarding a long boat. Many of my finest memories wore those boots. And I want them again. I don’t want them in order to relive the past, but simply to enjoy today with boots that I know will be fantastic.
   To this end I began searching online, I enjoy the convenience of shopping in my bear pelts. I had found a shoe site that had good prices earlier in the week. Yesterday I took a few minutes to complete the purchase.
   When I got the right website I saw a little bar at the top that said, “HURRY only 4 min 28 sec left for free shipping.” As you might image I was pleased and slightly flustered. I began the process; first I chose the color and size (as these were replacement boots I was able to move quickly). Then I was onto mailing information (I am well acquainted with this information and I had the good sense not to look at the time). Then onto billing, drat I need the credit card. Find the card. numbers, numbers, more numbers. and a date, I don’t know the date. And then that little number on the back for security, where is that? This is not good, oh no, the time is slipping. Would I like rushed shipping, no, do I, no, I want the free one that will end in 56 seconds. Get to check out, click check out.
  At this point a calmness that comes only with age and extreme stress came over me. I was able to rise above the keyboard and see myself clicking the check out button. My Above Me self guided the Below Me self to safety. While I was floating I also cleaned the dust off the ceiling fan, it had been bothering me for awhile. And the replacement boots were purchased. With the aid of my Above Me self I was able to buy the boots in 4 min and 9 sec.

Thursday, December 16, 2010

Bear Pelts

  This time of year many people wonder how to keep themselves and their loved ones warm. From my experience the best answer is bear pelts. For the normal sized adult one bear pelt will do fine, for the young ones you might get a few coverings out of one pelt. If one bear’s worth of fur does not fit you comfortably you should look into a new exercise routine. You do have to take into consideration the creating of boots, but in that case deer skins do very well. For today I will focus on pelts.
  Some of you might be unfamiliar with wearing skins and pelts, and it’s possible you do not have access to all the appropriate tools for acquiring a pelt. Again I will keep myself on topic, although acquiring them may prove to be difficult (but you’ll have great memories), the wearing of the pelts is very simple.
  The easiest way to look good in your pelt is to begin with an attractive bear. Many people enjoy polar bears due to their eye-catching color. I find them to be a bit too flashy, and beyond that they don’t work with my complexion. I look best in a nice long haired grizzly. The red highlights of their coat complement my beard, but they are difficult to tailor.
  Tailoring your pelt is involved, but I am sure even the untrained person can accomplish the task. The basic pattern calls for two large squares, generally equal in size. I say generally equal because it is necessary to be honest with yourself and consider whether your body’s shape is generally equal. Some of us have big barrel chests and thin waits, some of us have the opposite.  Estimate the best you can where the extra is needed and cut your pelt accordingly. If you cannot decide for yourself (as to whether you are pear or apple shaped), I’m sure you have a trusted friend that will be all too happy to tell you.
  After cutting your pelt it is time to lash it together. For this you’ll need a few yards of thin hide or innards and a strong tool for piercing the pelt. I find it best to choose one side that will stay tied together and the other that can be opened and closed for easy access. I am right handed so the left side of my pelt stays lashed together while the right side is prepared for tying off.
  There are several variations to the basic pattern. Generally you need a hole in the top center and one on each side, assuming you returned unscathed from acquiring your pelt. Lash the two sides of your new bear shirt together as you see fit. The bottom line is if it stays between you and the cold it is working. Certainly some people are more interested in fashion, they can pursue further alterations.
  About laundering your pelt. There is nothing worse than a bear pelt that has begun to get matted and foul. It’s best if you have a trusted pelt cleaner.  But where can you find someone with those skills? So then you must clean the pelt yourself.  But who has the time? And with the time it takes to dry without the assistance of the hot sun you are best off just waiting till the salmon start to swim upstream and do it properly.
  You may have realized that if you follow this bear pelt pattern your forearms are currently open to the elements. As cold as it is these days it is wise to find something to cover them. Something in cotton is really the best option, several layers of cotton.

Wednesday, December 8, 2010

Paint your hair

  I have a red beard. Not redhead red but more the fantastic color of the movie Vikings. The beard is red enough that my sister has accused me of using hair dye. Some sort of Just for Vikings product to create this luscious color. But no, I have not. As you might know top of the head hair and chin hair are generally slighty different colors, its all genetics. Somewhere near the top of your ear, as the side burns begin, your hair color changes. I don’t have time to explain it in detail, but I will say I have only colored my hair once, it happened in High School. I had no beard at that point. And I only dyed my hair because everyone else was doing it.
  (And yes, to answer your thought, I would jump off a cliff if everyone else was doing it. Indeed I have jumped off a cliff with a whole group of people. We jumped into a big river that had an eddy, the eddy pushed us back up the river instead of pulling us down stream.
  We had just eaten lunch after boating down the river all morning. Our group leader noticed the flow of the water and suggested it would be a fun way to spend the afternoon. He had also put a rope down the side of the cliff for our return trip. We all ran to edge, jumped out into the great unknown, smiled or screamed as we fell, and hit the cold water below with a collective splash. It was really fun and I’d do it again).
  All of this hair dying (and cliff jumping) is only to introduce a coworker that we’ll call Splashy. In the mornings I look across the way to see Splashy with a compact mirror up in the air. Every morning she gets to her desk and puts her face on. But some mornings she adds a special element. She paints her hair.
  Splashy uses her mascara brush to delicately cover her gray roots that have begun to show at her temples. Depending on her hairstyle the gray is covered. But some mornings she has her hair pulled back in a tight pony tail, so the gray pops right out there. Here comes the black mascara to the rescue.
I am certainly not making fun of the fact that Splashy’s hair is beginning to gray. I no longer have top of the head hair, let alone gray hair, far be it from me to point out another person’s gray hair that still exists.
  This post is simply meant to serve as a reminder that you are not invisible just because you have a compact mirror up to your face. We can still see you. Just saying.

Friday, December 3, 2010

Cold Cycle

  Winter has come to the moderately large north eastern city in which I live.  Now, being from the Viking stock I welcome the cold.  However the motorcycle that I use for transportation does not.  When the temperature drops below freezing, as it did today, my cycle complains to the point of defiance.  I understand it is simply a machine.  But when its really cold outside, the motorcycle does not want to come out to play.
  So I have to force it into compliance.  Mostly that means that I have to jump start the cold cycle.  Sadly I have had so much practice that I am pretty good at it now, but that was not always the case.  The first time it happened I was in a bit of a bind.  Here’s how it went.

 I was about half way through my trip to work, just about to Broad St. and I ran into a small problem.  The bike stalled out.  Not a "you didn't give enough gas when you let out the clutch" sort of stall, but an "I'm sitting at a red light and the bike makes a sputtering noise" and then no noise at all.  No noise, none at all.  So I tried to start it again, small noise, but none of the really thick noise I’d grown accustomed to.
  At this point of the trip I am on a larger street, but one chosen for its lack of traffic.  However, I am approaching Broad St.  So named because it’s big and wide with many cars, all of them moving with the loud thick noise I was hoping for.  I realized after a few more tries that I had flooded the engine and the best thing to do was to let it sit.
  So I positioned myself out of traffic and decided to call my wife and let her know what had happened.  She offered to come get me, but that suggestion didn't help the larger plan or my ego.  So I said not to come, I would try to pop the clutch again in a minute.
  My father in law taught me how to pop the clutch, letting me know that he has done it many times on this bike.  To demonstrate the process he ran down the driveway pushing the bike while holding the clutch in, got to a certain speed, pushed the ignition button, released the clutch, big noise ensues, and then he got on the revving motorcycle.  To get a clear picture of how he got on you should image the old west and a cowboy jumping onto a galloping horse.
  You know the one, the guy that needs to get on the horse while it runs by; he whistles for the horse, it comes running, but the horse doesn't stop and the cowboy does not need it to, he just jumps up, plants a foot in the stirrup, swings his body up and over and they are off to carry the mail to Montana.  If my father in law and I were in the wild west together I’d be the guy sitting in Montana that receives the mail and says, "well, we didn't expect to see hide nor hair of you till sundown." and he would smile and whistle for his horse.
  I am considerably larger and less agile then he.  Although to my credit and I am improving.  But there was no way I was going to run down the street and jump onto a revving motorcycle.  Its simply was not going to happen.  I settled for the next best thing, which is considerably more foolish looking.  I ran beside the bike, pushing the nearly 400lb sleeping beast until the right time to shock it into action.  The bike did respond, roaring and ready to go.  But instead of swinging my leg over and riding into the morning sun, I opted to put the bike in neutral, adjust my helmet, and mount the motorcycle in a measured and distinguished fashion.  My ego lay down at the side of the road and shrugged as I rode down to Broad St. and stopped for oncoming traffic.

Wednesday, November 17, 2010

Thrift Booty

  After the last posting we at the Amish Viking received many emails inquiring about our approach to money. Since personal finance is a woefully under represented topic on blogs I have decided to be of service.  Several people have also asked how I balance the two seemingly opposing sides of my upbringing.  On the one hand you have my mother's influence.  This is the honest, hard working people of the rural farm.  They work for peace, understand the value of a day’s work, and enjoy knowing their money is earned with valuer.  The other side is my father and his sea faring people.  They don't mind taking what's theirs, even if at one time it belonged to you.  They actually prefer showing up in the middle of the night, dumping your belongings into a trunk and leaving before the sun rises.  Most have enjoyed several stiff drinks before the work begins.  
  I have found some middle ground.  Recently my job in a large office building has decided to move.  As you may have read in past postings I don't mind picking up a penny from the ground.  I don't mind taking any of your change, but I will not do it without your knowledge or atleast the comfort of knowing it was left on the ground without a second thought.  How does this apply to an office moving buildings; there are many “without a second thoughts” going on in there. 
  I have decided to check abandoned and empty desks for loose change.  Its going very well.  As of 2 days before the official move I have found $2.78.  I call this approach to personal finance Thrift Booty.  (Clearly in the personal finance world booty is a synonym for lute or plunder.  Keep it family). 
  In further blog postings I hope to expand my approach to Thrift Booty and all the financial wonders it offers.  I endeavor to leave no path to Thrift Booty un-explored.  This does not mean however that I am beginning a personal finance blog, I will simply offer my insight on Thrift Booty as it arises. 
  Do you have any suggestions of how I can follow my desire to take what's yours while keeping my Amish principles intact.

Saturday, November 13, 2010

$4 or $5 at most

  Today I found 2 pennies on the street on my way to lunch.  This might sound like nothing, but I have found a penny while walking around at work every day for the past 2 weeks.  That brings me to 11 cents.  If this average holds till the end of the year I’ll be able to buy a coffee.  If I find some dimes I might be able to make it a latte.
  It is also possible that my luck will be multiplied.  What follows happened a few months ago, all the names have been changed to protect my profit.

 Yesterday I decided to change our loose coins into bills.  It worked out very well.  Our bank has a machine that you dump your coins into to be sorted and counted, and then it produces a receipt of what you have.   Take the receipt to the counter and get the bills, pretty simple.
  As I began the process a woman came up to ask if I had used the machine before or if I needed any assistance.  I smiled, thanked her and said, “No, I’m fine.” 
  I had the little mug that we keep in the drawer by the front door.  It is a Japanese style mug with no handle, about 2 inches wide and 3 inches tall.  Small enough to fit in a desk drawer.  I assume it holds about 4, maybe 5 dollars of pennies, nickels and dimes, no quarters because they go to the car for parking meters.
  So I dumped the coins and the computer on the machine made its electronic counting sounds, much like a Las Vegas slot machine.  I realized later that I didn’t hear any actual sounds of coins moving, but no big deal.  Then the computer said, “Oops, I was not able to count any of your coins, please press More if you have more coins or End if you are finished.”  I pressed End and the computer made more electronic counting sounds, but no true coin sounds, and the same Oops message came up.
  Thankfully the bank was nearly empty, no one was in line behind me, so I went to the counter and asked for help.  Soon one of the representatives walked over to help and commented on our cute little mug.
  At this point another employee came over to help, his name is Martin.  He opened the front door and slid the actual counter out.  As he took the top off the machine I saw a small mountain of coins.  He looked up and asked how I carried all of this change with me into the bank.  I smiled and said, “Martin, I don’t think all those coins are mine.”  He kept working and asked me to hold a bag of coins he had pulled out of the machine, say 6 lb worth.  As Martin kept retrieving the coins looking for the one that had blocked the sorter another employee walked over to help.  At this point I put our little mug in my coat pocket and sat down.
  They figured out where the problem was, fixed it, and began to feed my change back into the machine.  The other employee went back to work and again it was just Martin and I.  I said, “So Martin how does this work?”  Martin responded with, “If we find loose change at the end of the night we have to reconcile our balance sheet, so as far as the bank is concerned this is your money.”  I sat back down and tried to stop smirking.
  Pennies kept falling on the floor as Martin fed them to be counted, so I dutifully picked them up and returned them back to the machine.  Now the machine was making actual counting sounds and it was feeling more like Vegas with every passing coin.  Martin hit End and my receipt came out.
  All told our little Japanese mug was holding $49.89.  I staggered over to the counter, handed my receipt, and reminded myself to act natural.  I’ve been chuckling under my breath ever since.