I read this article on Engadget today, and having previously been responsible for physical and electronic security at Trax, I have some expertise on the subject. The premise of the article is that there are some specific lock-types, which are hugely popular in the US, that can be very easily “picked”. So easily picked, that pretty much anyone can do it.

I’m afraid that people may get whipped up into a frenzy now that they’re realizing how insecure they really are. There’s no reason to be any more worried than you were yesterday just because you found out today that the locks on your house can be picked. Give it some thought people! Your house wasn’t secure to begin with! Are you familiar with all that clear stuff that you look out into your yard through? It’s glass, and it’s very brittle. If anyone wants into your house, they’ll just break that.

Home security is an illusion for 99.99% (or higher) of homes. If anyone really wants in, they’re going to get in. If you have more than a passing interest in home security, you could begin by building a wall or fence around your property line that is difficult to climb over, drive through, or knock down. From there, you could add some yard obstacles in order to impede someone’s path to the house itself, which would be constructed from flame retardant materials like poured reinforced concrete. Of course it wouldn’t be very aesthetically pleasing with no windows and thick steel doors mounted in steel frames with non-traditional 2-factor authentication type locks.

Of course it goes without saying that there would be electronic surveillance systems tracking every movement of anyone that got near or on your property. That way you’d know when and if you needed to exit the facility from your underground tunnel.

Take solace in the fact that you’re just as safe today as you were yesterday.

My pool guy sucks. You may think this is a nice picture of my pool…

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…but you’d be wrong. It’s toxic. Pools that are un-maintained and are filled with stagnant water are illegal in Phoenix because they breed mosquitos, which lead to the West Nile virus. My pool isn’t stagnant, the filter and skimmer are still running, but there is green algae growing in the pool. For the second time in 3 weeks!

I don’t think it would be difficult to obtain the knowledge, but for being the Geek of Everything, it’s embarrassing to say that I don’t even know how to maintain my own pool!

Stupid pool guy. He’d better get here fast.

Since it’s so important to me, I decided to give this topic a post of its own. Much of my late grandfather’s identity and public persona were directly linked to the company he founded, Tapco. His personality was larger than life and he was a big self-promoter. Those two traits, along with his great vision for the future are things that helped him become a successful entrepreneur. That’s not the same as a great business man. He’d eventually need my dad for that, but that’s another story.

For as long as I can remember, besides using his own image in brochures and his nickname for product names, my grandfather used the Tapco logo on all sorts of promotional items: watches, pens, pencils, notepads, tape measures, shirts, pants, hats, jackets, money clips, pocket calculators, and pocket knives amongst other things I can’t recall. If you can name it, there was probably a version made adorned with the Tapco logo. For so long, my life was inundated with all things Tapco. It even seemed that my grandfather’s wardrobe was entirely furnished by Tapco. It was both silly and brilliant at the same time.

The Tapco Logo – Known internally as “The dancing letters”

For more than 30 years, at trade shows, he’d wear a bright green sport coat (the company’s color) that he would tell people was “money green”. People began to stop by our booth at shows just to meet him or shake his hand. Because Tapco’s tools were entirely mechanical, we were particularly popular with the Amish.

One time, while I was traveling with the area sales rep in south-eastern Ohio, the rep and I stopped at an Amish bakery which sold hand-made outdoor furniture in addition to baked goods. While he was inside buying a pie, I waited outdoors by the furniture. A salesperson approached me and asked if I needed any help. He noticed the Tapco logo on my shirt (see what I’m saying?) and said, “Tapco, huh?” I said, “Yes, it’s the company I work for.” The salesperson replied, “Do you know Windy Marsh?”

When my grandfather died, I wanted to create the design for his headstone in order to honor his memory in two ways. First, was by having a headstone that would standout amongst the others, like he did in a crowd. Secondly, with the kind of “brand recognition” he had, I wanted to keep his name and his company’s logo linked. The granite has a greenish hue to it, but we couldn’t get anything approching the color of “money green”. I also wanted to make each letter a separate piece, but the headstone company said it would lead to it being vandalized. Here’s the resulting design:

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It definitely stands out.

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I was feeling much better on day 4 than in the evening of day 3. We went to my hometown of Milford and drove past the house I grew up in (from the age of 5). We also stopped by the bridge that crosses the Huron river right next to it. The boys and I got out of the car and I let them run around to explore the area for a little while. They thought it would be pretty neat to live near a river. We live near a wash, which is sometimes a river, but it’s not really the same.

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The current owners of the house I grew up in have fallen down on the job when it comes to maintenance. The house and yard look terrible. It’s obvious that the driveway hasn’t been touched since my parents had it paved before my high-school graduation party in 1989 (it was gravel before that). The paint on the garage doors is weathered (and by today’s standards, ugly) and the landscaping is completely overgrown. There is also an inexplicable amount of “junk” at the top of the driveway. You know what they say; you can never go home. Which is a saying that turns out to be true.

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We also drove by my elementary school, Johnson Elementary, and the church I attended while growing up, which happens to be where Jamey and I were married.

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Like our house, the church has also fallen into disrepair. If you look close enough, you’ll see that there’s a gas grill and some miscellaneous patio furniture on the stone porch and the slate roof is damaged. Apparently the place has been turned into some type of hypnosis center. It’s difficult to see because of the awful looking storm windows, but there is some amazing 100-year-old stained glass in the church.

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From there, we drove past Jamey’s house that she lived in as a teenager, in Commerce Township (formerly Union Lake), made a stop at the cemetery where my grandparents are buried, and then to our friends’ house in Oakland Township for dinner.

Day 4 was a nice day.

In the evening of Day 3, I went out with my brother-in-law, Cabe (who doesn’t contribute to his blog anymore), and my friend Jimmy.

Before picking up Jimmy, Cabe and I stopped by his home Kart track, Kart 2 Kart for a rematch. I’m going to have to start visiting my local track on a more regular basis, because Cabe and I are pretty evenly matched. I’ll fix that. Below is a list of our raw lap times:

If you throw out each of our single fastest and slowest laps (Cabe’s slowest lap was earned by intentionally letting me pass him so I could lead for a while), you have this:

So my average lap time is only three hundredths of a second faster than his. I’m still faster, but I’m going to need to improve in order to retain family bragging rights. Game on.

We left the Karting place and made our way over to Jimmy’s house. The three of us headed down to Royal Oak for dinner in my rented 6-cylinder Charger. We ate at Mr. B’s, where I ordered the tasty “Slop Burger” and two pints of Guinness (in succession; I didn’t order two at once).

Let me set the tone for this next part by saying that I don’t smoke cigars very often. On average, I smoke maybe one or two cigars each year. So, we each bought a cigar (actually, Cabe bought mine). I chose a medium wrapper Churchill-sized one. I don’t remember the brand. We smoked and talked for a while in the cigar shop’s smoking room and then moved out onto the sidewalk. A storm was brewing that night making for windy weather conditions and I accidentally inhaled the smoke a couple of times (a big no-no with cigars). After an hour or two of walking, talking and joking, the storm was imminent, so we went back to our car in the parking garage.

The moment we reached the car, I immediately felt ill. We sat there in the car, in the parking garage for a good twenty-minutes before my body decided that I was indeed going to deposit my dinner onto the concrete; which was not fun. After a few more minutes, I declared myself a “bit better” and we left and went towards Pontiac to drop Jimmy off. I only drove about four blocks before I needed to stop and eject the remaining contents of my stomach. Luckily, I was able to pull onto a side-street and mostly stop the car in time.

While in the throws of this particular eruption, my body abruptly informed me of another problem on the not-too-distant horizon. Apparently, at dinner, I must’ve ate too much cheese (I’m lactose intolerant, and sometimes Lactaid tablets don’t do their job). I needed to find a bathroom. Fast.

Still driving and on the lookout for a clean bathroom at 11 PM, I turned North on Woodward Avenue. After making a quick stop in a Wendy’s parking lot in order to dry-heave, I spotted a McDonald’s that for some strange reason appeared to be open. I looped around and pulled into the parking lot only to see a neon sign that read, “Drive-Through Only”. At this point, I had tunnel-vision. I needed to find a restroom now or there was going to be an “incident”.

While driving through the parking lot of McDonald’s, Jimmy spotted someone standing next to a parked 2007 Mustang GT 500 convertible (they’re not out yet). It was blue and looked like it could be the press car that’s been making the rounds lately. The hood was up. “STOP NOW”, Jimmy exclaimed. “That’s a new GT 500 back there!”

I informed Jimmy in no uncertain terms that while I’d love to see a new GT 500, I had other more immediate concerns at the moment. I had spotted a pool hall a short distance from the McDonald’s and I raced over there and while still feeling incredibly nauseated, quickly headed directly to their bathroom. I have a personal policy of only going #1 in public bathrooms; especially since men’s rooms are notoriously filthy. I was willing to make an exception in this particular case. The bathroom was your typical small bar bathroom, and not particularly clean but I didn’t care. After verbally chastising Cabe and Jimmy for following me in there to pee, they left and I was able to…well…you know.

We then went from the pool hall to a gas station parking lot about a mile up the road. I needed some water (which Jimmy ran in and bought for me) and possibly to dry-heave some more. After sitting there for 30 minutes, I switched places with Cabe and let him do the driving. I was too nauseated to drive anymore. We made it another several miles before I commanded him to pull over at a Shell station. It was 11:56 PM when I entered the station and inquired with the attendant as to the direction of the restroom. I instantly ran off in that direction, entered the restroom (which was a door off the main store), closed the door, and found out the lock was broken. After a short internal debate, I decided I didn’t have much of a choice.

When I emerged from the bathroom, all the lights in the station were off and the attendant was patiently waiting for me so he could go home. I profusely thanked him for allowing me to use his bathroom at closing time. I walked out and got back into the car.

After what seemed like an eternity, we dropped Jimmy off at home, and after only two additional stops to allow me to dry-heave (once on the shoulder of the freeway), Cabe dropped me off at my hotel. Ugh, I feel sick just telling the story.

Thanks Cabe and Jimmy for putting up with me and not letting me die.