I’m sure you have questions, so I’m here to confuse you more.

Here’s what I have now.

And here is what I want. I don’t think it’s too much to ask.

Why in the hell would I put in PC in my car?

Consolidation. If you’re reading this, you’re probably the kind of fruity bitch with a GPS stuck to the windshield, an XM radio receiver glued to the dash, an iPod dangling from the input jack, and a Bluetooth speaker clipped to the visor. A car PC can put all that crap in one place.

I was that guy. For navigation, I used a six year old Garmin eTrex Vista Cx handheld wedged in front of my speedometer. I had standard AM/FM radio, which is total crap. When I bought my truck I dropped $150 for an iPod integration unit that allowed me to attach my iPod to my XM satellite harness and control it through my deck. For almost the same price, I paid a pimply Best Buy douche bag “install” it for me. And I sported a Motorola H350 Bluetooth ear piece when I need to place or receive calls while I’m on the road.

My last car, a certified, pre-owned 2002 BMW 325Ci coupe, had a premium sound system but not much else. I bought a service manual off eBay and tore my center console apart to install an auxiliary jack for a generic mp3 player. That was 2005. I didn’t know I had a problem with tech consolidation back then.

Versatility. I’m not talking about dating a gymnast. The thing about a car PC is its like a regular old computer… in your car. No shit, right? But think of all the things you can do with your PC. Now, granted, you probably won’t be typing a report while doing 75mph on the interstate to Vegas, but you get my point. Everything you do on your home computer is possible with a car PC.

Some months back I looked into buying your typical mass-marketed job, but sketchy reviews on its interface and nav system halted my progress. The price, with install and backup camera, was damn near $2000 and that didn’t sit too well with me either. Additionally, in-dash media systems won’t allow you to watch movies or change GPS routes while the vehicle is in motion (without hacking the hardware – techniques generally reserved for the geekiest of car stereophiles). I gave up on commercial systems soon after.

In the last month or so I’ve been seriously researching car PCs as viable, inexpensive alternatives to suit my mobile needs. I’ve scoured the internet, researched my project, and ordered the parts. Below is the list. If you’re not certifiably retarded, a simple site or Google search will get you to the item in question.

You’re welcome.

Parts list

MCS – Innovations in Mini-ITX
Case – black box mini
PSU – M1-ATX 80W
Mobo/CPU – Intel D510MO w/ 1.66GHz Atom D510 13w TDP processor
Touch screen – 7″ Lilliput EBY701 w/ rear camera auto switching
Steering wheel interface – Joycon EX
Rear view camera – 28mm Rear View CCD with Night Vision LEDs

Newegg.com
Memory – 4GB (2 x 2GB) Crucial PC2 6400 800mHz
Hard drive – Western Digital AV-GP WD5000AVDS 500GB 32MB Cache

On hand
Wi-Fi – Intel® PRO/Wireless 3945ABG PCIe Mini Card network adapter

eBay
USB hub – Iogear 5-Port High-Speed USB 2.0 Combo Hub/Card Reader
Bluetooth – micro dongle
GPS – USB SiRF III receiver
Mic – 2.5mm Funkwerk EGOMIC-EGO
Adapter – 3.5mm male to 2.5mm female
Wiring harness for Nissan premium sound system – 70-7550 Metra

Optional
Operating System – Windows (XP or 7 recommended, not Vista in any form)
Front end – Centrafuse Auto w/ N America nav

Cost

This parts list is running me about $740 (minus OS and front end, plus assorted cables and brackets I’m sure to have to buy to complete the project). As I’ve stated before, comparable brand-name video/nav units run about $1500 without installation. A fraction of this same configuration on MCS – Innovations in Mini-ITX is $820. I won’t do the math for you, but DIY is a definite money saver.

Stay tuned for assembly and installation pics when my parts arrive next week!

There are three applications I consider totally essential to reliable computing whenever I fix someone’s computer. I don’t get paid to recommend these, nor do I get paid at all, really, so you can take my word as gospel. If you’re one of the tech-types screaming from Internet Land about your personal choices in web browsing, security, and office productivity, feel free to put them in the comments.

Internet browsing

Google Chrome is a web browser that replaces Internet Explorer. Its faster, cleaner, and more secure. It will import your years of bookmarks. It won’t allow programs to install some bullshit toolbar, which is a good thing. There are plenty of extensions available for Google Chrome, and one in particular emulates Internet Explorer in the event you aboslutely can’t view a webpage without it.

Antivirus/spyware/malware

Microsoft Security Essentials replaces your antivirus, spyware, and malware programs. If you just bought a new computer, it will typically come with any number of paid subscription based antivirus services such as, but definitely not limited to, Norton or McAfee. Uninstall the programs you have now, then download and install MSE. Contrary to popular belief, a lack of antivirus/spyware/malware programs doesn’t mean you’ll be getting infected worse than a weekend in Tijuana. It just means you need to tiptoe around the web until you download and install your viable alternative.

Office suite

OpenOffice replaces Microsoft Office, and is everything you need to view and/or edit your existing Microsoft Word (text document), Excel (spreadsheet), or PowerPoint (slideshow presentation) documents. By default, OpenOffice will save files in OpenDocument, or ODF, format, but my series of screenshots below will assist in helping you set your defaults to Microsoft Office compatible files.

1. Start menu, Programs, OpenOffice 3.x, OpenOffice.org
2. Tools, Options
3. Expand Load/Save, go to General, and select various Document Types, such as Text, Spreadsheet, and Presentation.
4. Select the corresponding file format for each, looking for Microsoft xxx 97/2000/XP.

“No, it’s called a viola! They’re totally different!” the girl would whine. Her anger over his ignorance always pulled a chuckle from his throat.

The recital was rolling into its final notes. He maneuvered back through the crowd and up the sidelines to surprise her when a familiar profile appeared in the front row, face partially obscured by an enormously boxy point-and-shoot disposable camera. The hair was grayer, the face more round, but the angle of her nose and chin were unmistakable.

He instinctively took a few steps backward, using an overweight woman in a gaudy seasonal sweater as cover. The laughing reindeer in the heavy yarn sneered at him as his stomach rolled once, twice, and he suppressed his gag reflex. It had been almost three years since he had last seen the woman, and his physical reaction was always the same.

The recital ended amid a roar of applause and parents clambered to praise their children. The girl rushed to the woman, she hadn’t seen him yet, and hugged her. He stood frozen in place, wanting to move, needing to move, somewhere, anywhere, but his legs refused to obey. He was a helpless rabbit awaiting slaughter.

The girl saw him over the woman’s shoulder, broke away, and charged headlong into him. He struggled briefly to stay standing and pulled her close, his eyes never leaving the woman as she slowly turned and rose to her feet. A smile as fake as the fat lady’s reindeer spread across her face like a sword slash.

“Somehow I just knew you were going to be in town! I thought to myself, I should’ve put a note on the door to let you know I’d be here.” The woman was so just damn good at making everyone believe her sincerity, her kindness and caring. She was a premier con.

The girl was trying to sputter three years of her life to him, as bubbly and excited as any child the morning of their birthday, but her words drowned in the blood pumping in his ears. His focus was elsewhere.

“I don’t even know where you live,” he said dryly, and clenched his jaw.

“Oh stop!” She said playfully and slapped him on the arm. “Let’s get a picture!” She turned to the girl. “Take my camera and get a picture of us.” The girl eagerly agreed and fumbled the camera into her tiny hands, turning it over and over, methodically identifying each button, dial, and lever and commenting on the function of each. The woman slipped swiftly to his side – he didn’t know she could move that fast – and pulled him into her shoulder. He shuffled a couple rigid steps, his paralysis broken, and tensed when their bodies touched.

His eyes darted around the gymnasium, searching for something, anything, to distract the woman long enough to expel him from her steely grasp. This was not the place he wanted to be. Even Iraq, with its bullets flying, bombs exploding, and heat sweltering, was more inviting than this. He tried to relax but couldn’t.

“How long are you here?” she spat through her practiced, photographic pose. “You should come by and I’ll make you dinner.” Her breath blistered his skin. Her nails carved furrows across his arm. His body heaved in stabbing pain. He was in the arms of a demon.

“I already said I don’t know where you live. And you never cooked when we were kids, so why would you do it now?” His voice echoed in the spiraling black hole surrounding them. Outside the hole, time had stopped. The girl was caught in an inquisitive stare, finger poking at a button she had yet to identify, as if in a photo of her own.

“Oh hush! I’ll make chocolate chips cookies!” The woman beside him was unfamiliar. There were no hugs or wiped tears or words of support. She would leave he and his sister, 11 and 12 years old at the time, an eternity ago, to cook the meals for their 2 year old brother. They cleaned the house and shopped for groceries with the book of food stamps left on the kitchen table next to the dirty ashtray, because sometimes the woman would leave for days on end. An evening meal, a happy, family meal around the dining room table, was imaginary. The woman expressed only anger, hate, and disinterest. Her escape was whatever prescription bottle was closest to her nightstand, tuning out the world and her youngest, ungrateful children.

He wasn’t fooled.

Despite its seemingly antiquated technology, my computing needs haven’t exceeded its capabilities. My most recent hardware upgrade to Wireless-N, coincidentally timed with a software upgrade to Windows 7, left me with intermittent wireless connectivity to the point of ridiculous frustration. Luckily, I was able to eliminate my upgrades as the culprits after being connected error-free to a neighboring router without issue.

My Linksys WRT600N dual band wireless-N gigabit router with storage link was the only thing left to test. The router wasn’t cheap; I was concerned I’d have to replace it until I found the following information:

If you’re using an 802.11N router, there might be issues with WPA-TKIP security. [Apparently] the final version of 802.11N dropped support for WPA-TKIP. [Switch to] WPA2-AES.

This worked flawlessly for me and I’ve had uninterrupted wireless connectivity since I made the change.

Implementing the change was hassle free, if you know your way around your own wireless network. If some cable company d-bag set it up, or, God forbid, Best Buy’s Geek Squad, you’re SOL.

I must remind you, loyal jaymekohler.com fans, that my site is in no way endorsed by the United States Marines Corps nor are my opinions necessarily that of the United States Marine Corps. I could add any number of legal mumbo-jumbo paragraphs, but you get my drift.

Let the record show that today's Marine Corps recruits are treated with the utmost respect and courtesy. In fact, they are not yelled at, ordered around, stressed, or in any way removed from their individual comfort zones. Rest assured, America, that your precious 18 year old sons are living the good life. I fabricated the entire post and nothing is even remotely true or accurate because I exaggerate and lie to gain attention.

Let me also say that these same methods were used to train the boys/men who raised the flag on Iwo Jima, stormed the beaches of Inchon, and rushed the wheat fields of Belleau Wood. We don't speak German or Japanese because we trained recruits with sensitivity and care.

Perception is for those too stupid to get the facts.
- Unknown

But before I get really pissed off and belligerent, here it is…

This [solely opinionated] guide on surviving Marine Corps recruit training serves as a cheat sheet of sorts, bulging with tips and tricks proven to impress, astound, and appease drill instructors depot-wide and rocket you to positions of leadership and privilege like no other. It targets those in the civilian sector ballsy enough to step on [the] yellow footprints. Lastly, this guide is by no means exhaustive. It contains enough of what you need to know to turn a thirteen week [misperceived phrase] cycle into hedonist bliss.

1. The words “I” and “we” and “they” are no longer in your vocabulary. It’s now “this recruit” and “these recruits” and “those recruits.” Third person speech and third person only. Everyone else will be referred to by full title and rank. For example, I am drill instructor Gunnery Sergeant Kohler. Not “you.” “You” sounds like “ewe” and that’s a female sheep. You won’t make that mistake twice.
2. You will be at the position of attention whenever you speak to a drill instructor. The position of attention is the basic military position. This indicates that you are alert and ready for instructions. Bring your left heel against the right. Turn you feet out equally to form an angle of 45 degrees. Keep you heels on the same line and touching. Your legs will be straight but not stiff at the knees. Keep your hips and shoulders level and your chest lifted. Your arms will hang naturally, thumbs along the trouser seams, palms facing inward toward your legs, and fingers joined in their natural curl. Keep your head and body erect. Look straight ahead. Keep your mouth closed and your chin pulled in slightly. Stand still and do not talk.
3. And I do mean stand still. Don’t eyeball the area. Don’t wiggle your fingers. Don’t play with your uniform. Don’t scratch your face. Don’t brush the sand flea off you ear. Don’t move.
4. Your bed is now called a rack. The bathroom is now the head. The floor is now the deck. The wall is now the bulkhead. Breakfast, lunch, and dinner are now morning chow, noon chow, and evening chow. Ask the drill instructor just once if “I can use the bathroom before dinner” and see what happens.
5. “Aye sir” “Yes sir” and “No sir” will be your only responses unless more is demanded.

What’s that? You didn’t say anything. Say aye sir!

6. When a drill instructor says something, you say something. And you will say it with volume and intensity. When in doubt, scream “aye sir!” as loud as you can.
7. Everything you say and do will be loud and intense. When you scream, there will be spit flying out of your mouth and veins bulging out of your neck. If you want to give the drill instructor a kiss, simply talk soft and sweet and he’ll hook you up.
8. You will render the proper greeting of the day whenever you’re near a drill instructor. A proper greeting is “Good morning- afternoon- evening- sir!” As a general rule of thumb, if you can see him, you should scream. I don’t care if he’s low crawling across the parade deck in his underwear. Just do it.

Stop [darn] moving around! Now scream aye sir!

9. Run everywhere you go. Move with a sense of purpose, like the mission you’re about to accomplish is the most important thing in your life. I don’t care if you’re restocking [bad word for poop] paper. That [bad word for poop] paper will get 100% of your attention and energy and will be the most squared away [bad word for poop] paper in the company.
10. Volunteer for everything. When the drill instructor says he needs recruits, your [bad word for butt] will be flying through the air screaming “This recruit sir!” at the top of your lungs.
    Volunteering will get you in good with the drill instructors, so when a real [bad word for crappy] job comes along they probably won’t pick you. But then again, they probably will, just because they know you can get the job done without screwing it up.

When I say something you say something! Open your disgusting mouth!

11. You will not offer excuses for anything. If you break your leg halfway through the obstacle course, don’t point at the wound and whine when the drill instructor calls you a [bad word for cat] and screams at you to finish. Just spring to your feet, ignore the blinding pain and jagged edges of ruined flesh, and pray the Corpsman stops things before a bone fragment punctures your femoral artery and you bleed out like a Christmas dinner hog.

So we’ve got a volume problem, huh? We don’t wanna scream? Open your fat face!

12. Regardless of your position in formation, the squad bay, or on the PT field, you are being watched by the drill instructor. There is nothing you can get away with that hasn’t already been tried by thousands of recruits before you. If you’re on the opposite side of formation and decide to dig in your filthy face, you—

    I said stop [darn] moving! I just finished saying you’re always being watched and you wanna scratch? Well, you ain’t done! Keep scratching! Make it feel good!

    You’re going to be caught. You’re not sneaky, and the drill instructor will slay you at his earliest convenience if you try some dumb bullshit.

13. Accept the following as fact and recruit training will be that much easier:
    • Your girlfriend is cheating on you. Probably with your “best friend” who you told to “look after her” while you were gone.
    • No one actually cares you’re in boot camp [Everyone cares and they love you and miss you]. While you sweat, strain, train, and tremble through weeks of rigorous recruit [heck], they’re shopping, going to movies, getting [birds and bees stuff], and drinking beer whenever the [heck] they want. Because they can.
    • You will experience the entire spectrum of human emotion, often in as short a time as a two hour combat endurance course, for example. These emotions include, but are not limited to [assorted emotions] while sand encrusted snot strings cling stubbornly to your cheeks as you scream for water, ice cold delicious water, and reach out desperately for the nearest drill instructor who is gulping greedily from his Camelbak drinking tube, to please please help me for the love of God I can’t drag him any further [text omitted due to perceived disturbing mental images].
    • You will never be good enough to be in my beloved Corps. But that doesn’t mean stop trying, [an animal with a curly tail and prone to sunburns (also where pork comes from)].
14. Don’t take anything personal. When the drill instructor calls you [assorted names] who has no business in Marine Corps recruit training, shrug it off (emotionally, of course), strive to be better and carry on smartly. Take no offense when the drill instructor kindly enquires about your family [text omitted due to perceived disturbing mental images]. But if you find the steely gaze of a drill instructor upon you, with his cold, calculating eyes, always watching, always judging, sizing you up for the next slaughter, take heed. You see, he truly, deeply, and completely hates you [he doesn't actually truly hate you, it just read well] with every fiber of his being because you’ve taken him far, far away from the Marines he loves, the Marines he’s trained and fought alongside. You’ve replaced them, instead, with your eighteen years of attitude, immaturity, disrespect, lawlessness, jackassery, and undisciplined wa—

And you’re still [bad word] moving around, you disgusting [not really disgusting], brainless [not really brainless] [bad word for female dog]

But he didn’t work 9 to 5. He hasn’t traveled the world. We didn’t toss the baseball around before dinner every night. He didn’t teach me how to shave. He didn’t buy me my first car or drop me off at college. We didn’t fish together, hunt together, camp together, or do most things that fathers and sons typically do. But despite all the things my Dad and I didn’t do, he has been the most influential person of my life.

Age 8:

• Dad put me on my first tractor, steering through the family potato field with him bouncing along behind, trying desperately to guide the one-horse plow that was chained to the bumper.
• Dad put me on my first riding lawn mower. Minutes later I slipped off the brake pedal, ran over my own foot, and cut completely through my work boot, shaving a small sliver of skin from the big toe of my right foot. He never panicked, but calmly told me to go in the house and change boots. (Then mom found out and hit the roof.)

Age 10:

• Dad put me on my fist three-wheeler. I was giving my sister a ride and promptly ran straight through the garden and over the tomatoes. He calmly told me I was done riding for the day and to get off the three-wheeler. (Then mom found out and hit the roof.)

Age 11:

• Folks get divorced. Dad drives mom and the three youngest kids to Washington State. I never hear him complain or argue or get upset. Mom is just plain mean through the entire evolution.

Age 14:

• Dad shows up on our doorstep in Washington, takes my sister and I back to North Dakota for the summer. I miss Boy Scout Camp. I am extremely butt-hurt, to the point of tears, but oddly harbor no hard feelings.
• Back on the three-wheeler again, I ride off the road and dislocate both hips. I thrash on the ground for a bit and pop them back into place. Dad knows nothing of this, but simply asks me what took so long to get home when I come limping back. I lie.

Age 16:

• Dad shows up on our doorstep in Washington, this time to move be back to North Dakota after I spend some time behind bars. He says two words to me, “I’m disappointed’” and drops the subject of my criminal past.
• He lets me drive in Montana despite the poor weather, and I damn near wreck the 1988 Oldsmobile Delta 98 when I swerve to miss a tumbleweed. “Well, as least we know the roads aren’t icy,” is all he says and I keep driving. (Mom would have hit the roof had she found out.)
• Dad hands me the keys to the pickup, points me to a stubble field (a harvested wheat field), and says “Practice.”
• That winter I get in a snowboard accident in the rocky hills near our farm. The muscles surrounding my right elbow are torn from the bone. With no insurance, Dad takes me to the doctor and I get x-rays and a sling. I can’t straighten my arm for four months.

Age 17:

• I dislocate my right hip in a football game. Dad takes me to the chiropractor who says I should never play football again. One week later I suit up and Dad supports the decision.

Age 18:

• Dad’s 18th birthday/graduation present to me is a No Fear t-shirt that reads “If you’re not living on the edge, then you’re taking up too much space.” Dad says it’s because I always say “Come on Dad, you gotta live on the edge!”
• That fall, I announce I’m going to college. I can see the hurt in his eyes not because I’m going, but because I’m leaving.

Age 21…

• I announce my plans to join the Marine Corps. Dad is supportive as always, but not in a cheesy, obligatory way.
• I call Dad from a rooftop satellite phone in Fallujah, Iraq. Midway through the conversation, bombs explode and I have to go. Dad tells me to let him know how things turn out.

As I sit here and list all the ways Dad as affected my life, I realize he was as untraditional a dad as dad’s can be. Yet somehow I learned that humility, a hard day’s work, and perseverance are foundations of an honest life. I have his eyes, his hands, and his love for tinkering, his sense of humor, but thankfully not his tan.

Happy 70th Birthday Dad!

Feel free to make your own FAIL comments to this photo. A few Lilly and I were considering were:

Flood prevention FAIL
Split level home FAIL
Penthouse suite FAIL

Use your imagination!

For many more kickass FAIL photos and videos, visit the official FAIL Blog or YouTube site.

Apparently, some new Marines didn’t get the memo.

This Marine was checking into MCAS Miramar with a mixture of Service A and Service C Marine Corps uniforms, affectionately coined CHALFAS. The Marine reported to his new unit with a crinkled short sleeve Charlie shirt, chipped, unserviceable collar emblems upside down, no tie and tie clasp, no shooting badge, no belt, belt loop or belt buckle, and wearing white socks.

This is a pretty popular picture circulating around Parris Island, with every drill instructor pointing fingers at the next one saying “He came from your platoon!” It’s an entertaining piece for sure.

8:16pm EDST – look take this down u do not have permission to have her photos up nor to accuse me of child abuse u stupid lil man..i said i would play nice to begin with test me..really..its slander..look it up..

Slander

• words falsely spoken that damage the reputation of another
• defame: charge falsely or with malicious intent; attack the good name and reputation of someone; “The journalists have defamed me!” “The article in the paper sullied my reputation”
• aspersion: an abusive attack on a person’s character or good name
• In law, defamation (also called calumny, libel, slander, and vilification) is the communication of a statement that makes a false claim, expressly stated or implied to be factual, that may give an individual, business, product, group, government or nation a negative image.
• a false, malicious statement (spoken or published), especially one which is injurious to a person’s reputation; the making of such a statement; to utter a slanderous statement

Good evening ladies and gentlemen. Since I’ve got a legal issue on my hands now, I thought I’d put all my business on the table and reference exactly what this individual is talking about.

Read about my time as a Ten day daddy.

Is it really slander? Really? I didn’t think so. There are no names. There isn’t any finger pointing. It’s more than I can say for the instigator and her MySpace blogs… naming me specifically as the father and my lack of cooperation with the pregnancy. I had asked her to remove all mentions of my name. She did not. The joke was on me! Ha! She picked the best [possible] daddy and stuck with it.

I think this whole ordeal is a bit “high school” for the social media circles. But if I can’t get my side of the story our there, then who is ever going to believe me?

Even as a young man, the thing that frustrated me most was someone not believing me. Someone seeing me for who I wasn’t. In this case, I walked into the town of Lexington, NC with a bright red “Baby’s Daddy” stamped on my forehead. And you know what? I was proud of that. I ate at the local restaurants. I went to church. I met family, friends, relatives. They all saw me as the father. I didn’t mind. Elyse was my little girl.

I’ve never wanted the white picket fence and a dog named Spot. I’ve never wanted the wife. I’ve always wanted the children. And I was proud to have Elyse. She changed me, made me aware of what I really wanted and what I was capable of as a father.

The problem lies with her mother. I spoke the truth when I said she was using the baby against me. She knew how I felt about Elyse. And even now, four months after her birth, she tries to call. For what reason? I deleted it without listening. What could that woman possibly think she has to say to me?

I am at an impasse, folks. I’d appreciate your advice in the comments. Thanks.

1. 880 Yard Run: Marines will run for 880 yards while wearing boots and camouflage uniform (trousers and skivvie shirt).
2. Ammo Can Lifts: Marines will lift a 30 pound ammo can from the ground, over their heads as many times as they can in two minutes.
3. Maneuver Under Fire: Marines must move through a 300 yard course, and perform designated tasks, in the time limit authorized. The tasks include:
• Moving in a quick scurry (low crawl) for 10 yards, then a high crawl for another 15 yards.
• Drag a casualty for 10 yards while zigzagging through several cones. Then lift the casualty and fireman carry him at a run for 65 yards.
• Carry two 30-pound ammo cans for 75 yards, while zigzagging through a series of cones.
• Toss a dummy grenade 22 1/2 yards and land it in a marked target circle.
• Perform three push-ups, pick up the two 30-pound cans and sprint to the finish line.

The proposed perfect score my my age is:

880 Yard Run: 2:51
Ammo Can Lifts: 100
Maneuver Under Fire: 2:26

Right now, the CFT is pass or fail. In July 2009, the Marine Corps will establish a point system for each event. The current minimum requirements to pass the CFT are:

The following video was last December when Alpha Company recruits ran their first CFT.

Most text taken from About.com: US Military