The status of things:
We have more ice cubes than we’ve ever had. If you need ice cubes you just let me know.
The brain thing. The pressure on my right eye makes me cross-eyed. Past about arms length I see double. I tell the wife it’s almost like being married to twins. She doesn’t find it very amusing. I’ll have to give up the pitch to convert to Mormonism.
The steroid I take to combat the brain swelling can cause mood swings. It sure does. I become very impatient with the kids and have to tell myself to shut up, even more than usual. The wife? I just say “yes dear” like usual and we get along fine.
At work, Don, High Sheriff and Security Grand Poobah, was sharing his thoughts re my upcoming surgery. He figures that since the problem is pressure on the eye the surgeon will just pop my eye out and Roto-Rooter around in there to clean it out.
There’s a happy image- laying there with an eyeball hanging out while a surgeon gets to practice his plumber’s snake technique through my eye socket. But wait, there’s more.
James, a co-worker, overheard this happy conversation and felt his own need to share. James used to work at the VA hospital. James said, “They’re really careful about working around the frontal lobes. They’ll probably keep you conscious so they can keep track of how you’re doing.” Thanks a lot.
Now I’m going to be laying on a table, fully conscious, and they’re going to pop out an eyeball and roto rooter my brain while saying, “How ya’ doing?” Like I’ll feel like talking. I’ll certainly have to be under some kind of anesthetic. So I’ll probably say something in a semi-delirious state like, “How ‘bout them Hawks?” and the surgeon will flinch because he’s a Gophers fan. I am so screwed. I’m really looking forward to this.
http://publicserf.blogspot.com
Whine at me: publicserf@yahoo.com
-
Saturday, August 23, 2003
Friday, August 22, 2003
I’ve been behind in the blogging, so this morning a little catch-up. It may have already been done to death, but it hasn’t been done here yet.
Arnold as California Guv’ner. Oh why not. Reagan showed you can go from acting on the screen to acting in real life and succeed. Not only succeed but have acolytes that would put him on Rushmore. If Ann Coulter ever has a kid it will be because she gave in to carnal thoughts while thinking of Ronald Reagan. Just don’t tell her husband, if she has one. She would certainly nickname the kid, regardless of gender, ‘Li’l Gipper.’ Remember, you read it here first.
But back to Arnold. He’ll almost certainly win. The left-wingers will beat him with everything they can come up with- nothing will be too petty. I predict, I predict, even his Aryan Marine haircut will become the stuff of punditry. Just remember I did it first.
Gray Davis? He’s dead meat. He’s going to learn how few political friends you have when you’re no longer useful. Twisting in the wind, he’s going to be a more gruesome spectacle than hanging chad was in Florida.
Of course, just because his political friends abandon him doesn't mean they'll glom onto Arnold. Which is why we may be treated to the spectacle of Arnold campaigning while Barbara Streisand and Cybil Shepherd bite his ankles. Expect Arnold to shake them off with customary good humor.
He has larger groups to deal with. A big part of California’s population is Hispanic. I’m not even going to try to get a percentage, it just seems that obvious. So it seems that the Hispanics could have a lot to say about who wins the guv’nah ship. Arnold can capitalize on his own status as an immigrant to suck up, though the Hispanics might complain they got there first. The problem might be that Hispanics probably vote Democrat, part of the whole minority “thing.” I’m not going to research that either.
I like Arnold. He makes it easy. So here’s a bone for Arnold. To get that big Hispanic vote- one little phrase. “Ich Bin Ein Hispanic.” Sure, the Hispanics might prefer it a little more correct, like “Lo soy Hispanico.” But you gotta admit, the German rings. It brings into play that whole Kennedy thing he married into.
Other contestants- Gary Coleman. Well that's different. He announced he would not accept any campaign contributions. Across the country were heard cries of anguish as check books slapped shut. It seems a little strict of him not to let the people express their free speech via contribution, but maybe he's more Aryan than Arnold.
Gotta go to work. If not more of this later, you’ll get my slant on Queer Eye. Oh boy.
http://publicserf.blogspot.com
Whine at me: publicserf@yahoo.com
-
Arnold as California Guv’ner. Oh why not. Reagan showed you can go from acting on the screen to acting in real life and succeed. Not only succeed but have acolytes that would put him on Rushmore. If Ann Coulter ever has a kid it will be because she gave in to carnal thoughts while thinking of Ronald Reagan. Just don’t tell her husband, if she has one. She would certainly nickname the kid, regardless of gender, ‘Li’l Gipper.’ Remember, you read it here first.
But back to Arnold. He’ll almost certainly win. The left-wingers will beat him with everything they can come up with- nothing will be too petty. I predict, I predict, even his Aryan Marine haircut will become the stuff of punditry. Just remember I did it first.
Gray Davis? He’s dead meat. He’s going to learn how few political friends you have when you’re no longer useful. Twisting in the wind, he’s going to be a more gruesome spectacle than hanging chad was in Florida.
Of course, just because his political friends abandon him doesn't mean they'll glom onto Arnold. Which is why we may be treated to the spectacle of Arnold campaigning while Barbara Streisand and Cybil Shepherd bite his ankles. Expect Arnold to shake them off with customary good humor.
He has larger groups to deal with. A big part of California’s population is Hispanic. I’m not even going to try to get a percentage, it just seems that obvious. So it seems that the Hispanics could have a lot to say about who wins the guv’nah ship. Arnold can capitalize on his own status as an immigrant to suck up, though the Hispanics might complain they got there first. The problem might be that Hispanics probably vote Democrat, part of the whole minority “thing.” I’m not going to research that either.
I like Arnold. He makes it easy. So here’s a bone for Arnold. To get that big Hispanic vote- one little phrase. “Ich Bin Ein Hispanic.” Sure, the Hispanics might prefer it a little more correct, like “Lo soy Hispanico.” But you gotta admit, the German rings. It brings into play that whole Kennedy thing he married into.
Other contestants- Gary Coleman. Well that's different. He announced he would not accept any campaign contributions. Across the country were heard cries of anguish as check books slapped shut. It seems a little strict of him not to let the people express their free speech via contribution, but maybe he's more Aryan than Arnold.
Gotta go to work. If not more of this later, you’ll get my slant on Queer Eye. Oh boy.
http://publicserf.blogspot.com
Whine at me: publicserf@yahoo.com
-
Wednesday, August 20, 2003
Home Improvement- The Icemaker
I finally installed a water line to the fridge, and therein lays today’s tale, as it were.
The installation had been giving me fits. There seemed to be no satisfactory answer because the fridge is in a corner. In the basement, below the fridge, is the fuse box. Yes, fuse box is correct, it’s never been upgraded to breakers. You say “So what?” Well the “what” is that building code does not allow installation of a water line within three feet of a fuse or breaker box.
Measure out three feet from the edge of the fuse box and you wind up about a foot and a half to the side of the fridge. So I figured I could run some ½ inch PVC from the washing machine line up through the floor, cap it off, and tap into it for the line to the fridge. Sure, it would work, but it would be an ugly thing to have on the kitchen floor.
The wife wanted her icemaker. So we got everything we’d need from Home Depot to do the job. One of the things needed was a basic ice-maker connection kit. The choice was plastic or copper, each kit had a seven foot length of tubing. It’s not as much as I want. It’s a 4’1/2 foot drop to the washer line. There won’t be much slack for moving the fridge.
Copper is a hassle. I picked up the kit using plastic pipe. The friendly HD friendly person said, “No, don’t use that, use copper.” And he handed me a kit using copper tubing. Dear God. But being weak-willed I assented. Now we’re going to have copper tubing stretched across the floor. Crap. Damn me for being spineless, but spineless I am.
But I can’t bring myself to drill that ½ inch hole in the floor. It would be ugly. It would be final. Can’t do it, there has to be a better way.
Maybe… Tom would know a better way. Tom is the guy next door whose initials should be DIY. He does everything- tears down cars, welds, fabricates. His day job for the city seems to be just to get money for his projects. He has a work ethic to shame an ant. So why not ask Tom?
I step outside, and there’s Tom walking up our shared driveway. Could this be a sign? Indeed. I explain my predicament; he seems somewhat amused. “Why don’t you just go to Menards and get some plastic pipe, run that through the floor and hook that into the washer line?” But if I do that to come up behind the fridge, won’t I be violating code?
“Nah, that’s just for any joints in case they leak. You’ll just be running tubing from the washer line to the back of the fridge. You’ll be okay.”
There it was, simple, beautiful, easy. I coulda kissed him, but he’s not that kind of guy.
God forbid that I should run into the same guy at Home Depot, so to Menards I go. Their installation kit has 25 feet of tubing. It just keeps getting better. We be on a roll. This suddenly feels very good.
Well it felt good for a little bit. I drill a small hole in the kitchen floor behind the fridge to make sure it’ll be ok. I want the hole at the tile’s seam, so anybody who ever replaces the tile has an easier job of it. I leave the drill bit in the floor so I can find the hole easier. I check it downstairs, nothing. Apparently all the time spent watching Star Trek has not been wasted. No doubt about it, I’ve discovered a wormhole. The drill bit goes into the kitchen floor and comes out somewhere around Alpha Centauri. I hope the Alphas do not find me rude for arriving unannounced. Hopefully they will know I come in peace, but a drill bit coming through looks kind of serious.
The house is overbuilt in its 100 year-old way. Maybe a wider, longer bit would reach. It does not. Screw this, we can go the other way. Into the basement with the drill, put it up as far back as possible, hope and a prayer, and away it goes. And may I just say here, thank God and the inventor he inspired, for cordless drills. It definitely went through something. We have to go upstairs to see now. Oh, boy, oh, boy, it’s like Christmas, only maybe destructive.
The hole is about a foot in from the wall. Dear God. Stone foundation like a freaking castle. Of course the hole is nowhere near a tile seam. Someday some guy will curse me for giving him a crappy job, but I’ll probably be dead by then, or living on Alpha Centauri.
The tubing is ¼ inch. I go crazy and go to 17/64 for that extra 1/64 of play. Oh baby, it slips through so nicely, you’d almost think I knew what I was doing.
I figure, what if I get the freak one in a million bad saddle valve and it starts running as soon as I hook it up to the water supply? Better have the fridge end hooked up first.
So next up, do the compression fitting on the back of the fridge. Snug but not too tight, don’t want to ruin the fitting. Leave the wrench right there in case it’s needed.
Then it’s time for the saddle valve on the water line. This seems kind of rinky-dink to me. You clamp the valve onto the water line, screw it in, back it off, and like magic you’ve got a water connection. Okay, but it still seems kind of rinky-dink to me. Or did I already say that?
Being married to the Supernurse the union area must first be cleaned, scrubbed, sterilized, cauterized, and swabbed with baby wipes. This is health ya’ know, sterile procedure. Clamp, screw, unscrew, and the water flows like magic. No drips, good job for me. I follow the slow flow up the tubing. Oh baby, this could be so good. It reaches the ceiling; I run upstairs to watch. You can’t get this on cable.
Slowly, slowly it reaches the fridge. Then it’s there with a little bubbling. I’ve no problem with letting it clear air out of the line. Bubbling stops and a drip comes out. Grab the handy wrench, and a quarter turn later dry off the top, no more water, no problem.
Oh baby, this is good. Except there’s the little matter of “Does the icemaker work?” The Superwife flips the switch, nothing. It was accidentally tripped before and it made a grumbling sound, but this is nothing, not even a hum. There’s nothing to do but wait and hope it doesn’t mean a service call.
Two hours later, ice cubes! Or a reasonable facsimile thereof. They’re not really cubes. They’re more like half-slices of canned cranberry sauce. As if ice cube description is at all important. But it works. The Superwife is happy. I knowledgeably inform her that the first three loads must be discarded, system flush you know. You can read it in the manual, I did.
When I got home today she told me every once in a while she and the kids would open the freezer to see how many cubes we had. Sometimes it takes so little to make them happy. For a few days anyway, we’re living high on the hog. Tonight, at supper, to drink we had … ice water with non-cubic cubes.
http://publicserf.blogspot.com
Whine at me: publicserf@yahoo.com
-
I finally installed a water line to the fridge, and therein lays today’s tale, as it were.
The installation had been giving me fits. There seemed to be no satisfactory answer because the fridge is in a corner. In the basement, below the fridge, is the fuse box. Yes, fuse box is correct, it’s never been upgraded to breakers. You say “So what?” Well the “what” is that building code does not allow installation of a water line within three feet of a fuse or breaker box.
Measure out three feet from the edge of the fuse box and you wind up about a foot and a half to the side of the fridge. So I figured I could run some ½ inch PVC from the washing machine line up through the floor, cap it off, and tap into it for the line to the fridge. Sure, it would work, but it would be an ugly thing to have on the kitchen floor.
The wife wanted her icemaker. So we got everything we’d need from Home Depot to do the job. One of the things needed was a basic ice-maker connection kit. The choice was plastic or copper, each kit had a seven foot length of tubing. It’s not as much as I want. It’s a 4’1/2 foot drop to the washer line. There won’t be much slack for moving the fridge.
Copper is a hassle. I picked up the kit using plastic pipe. The friendly HD friendly person said, “No, don’t use that, use copper.” And he handed me a kit using copper tubing. Dear God. But being weak-willed I assented. Now we’re going to have copper tubing stretched across the floor. Crap. Damn me for being spineless, but spineless I am.
But I can’t bring myself to drill that ½ inch hole in the floor. It would be ugly. It would be final. Can’t do it, there has to be a better way.
Maybe… Tom would know a better way. Tom is the guy next door whose initials should be DIY. He does everything- tears down cars, welds, fabricates. His day job for the city seems to be just to get money for his projects. He has a work ethic to shame an ant. So why not ask Tom?
I step outside, and there’s Tom walking up our shared driveway. Could this be a sign? Indeed. I explain my predicament; he seems somewhat amused. “Why don’t you just go to Menards and get some plastic pipe, run that through the floor and hook that into the washer line?” But if I do that to come up behind the fridge, won’t I be violating code?
“Nah, that’s just for any joints in case they leak. You’ll just be running tubing from the washer line to the back of the fridge. You’ll be okay.”
There it was, simple, beautiful, easy. I coulda kissed him, but he’s not that kind of guy.
God forbid that I should run into the same guy at Home Depot, so to Menards I go. Their installation kit has 25 feet of tubing. It just keeps getting better. We be on a roll. This suddenly feels very good.
Well it felt good for a little bit. I drill a small hole in the kitchen floor behind the fridge to make sure it’ll be ok. I want the hole at the tile’s seam, so anybody who ever replaces the tile has an easier job of it. I leave the drill bit in the floor so I can find the hole easier. I check it downstairs, nothing. Apparently all the time spent watching Star Trek has not been wasted. No doubt about it, I’ve discovered a wormhole. The drill bit goes into the kitchen floor and comes out somewhere around Alpha Centauri. I hope the Alphas do not find me rude for arriving unannounced. Hopefully they will know I come in peace, but a drill bit coming through looks kind of serious.
The house is overbuilt in its 100 year-old way. Maybe a wider, longer bit would reach. It does not. Screw this, we can go the other way. Into the basement with the drill, put it up as far back as possible, hope and a prayer, and away it goes. And may I just say here, thank God and the inventor he inspired, for cordless drills. It definitely went through something. We have to go upstairs to see now. Oh, boy, oh, boy, it’s like Christmas, only maybe destructive.
The hole is about a foot in from the wall. Dear God. Stone foundation like a freaking castle. Of course the hole is nowhere near a tile seam. Someday some guy will curse me for giving him a crappy job, but I’ll probably be dead by then, or living on Alpha Centauri.
The tubing is ¼ inch. I go crazy and go to 17/64 for that extra 1/64 of play. Oh baby, it slips through so nicely, you’d almost think I knew what I was doing.
I figure, what if I get the freak one in a million bad saddle valve and it starts running as soon as I hook it up to the water supply? Better have the fridge end hooked up first.
So next up, do the compression fitting on the back of the fridge. Snug but not too tight, don’t want to ruin the fitting. Leave the wrench right there in case it’s needed.
Then it’s time for the saddle valve on the water line. This seems kind of rinky-dink to me. You clamp the valve onto the water line, screw it in, back it off, and like magic you’ve got a water connection. Okay, but it still seems kind of rinky-dink to me. Or did I already say that?
Being married to the Supernurse the union area must first be cleaned, scrubbed, sterilized, cauterized, and swabbed with baby wipes. This is health ya’ know, sterile procedure. Clamp, screw, unscrew, and the water flows like magic. No drips, good job for me. I follow the slow flow up the tubing. Oh baby, this could be so good. It reaches the ceiling; I run upstairs to watch. You can’t get this on cable.
Slowly, slowly it reaches the fridge. Then it’s there with a little bubbling. I’ve no problem with letting it clear air out of the line. Bubbling stops and a drip comes out. Grab the handy wrench, and a quarter turn later dry off the top, no more water, no problem.
Oh baby, this is good. Except there’s the little matter of “Does the icemaker work?” The Superwife flips the switch, nothing. It was accidentally tripped before and it made a grumbling sound, but this is nothing, not even a hum. There’s nothing to do but wait and hope it doesn’t mean a service call.
Two hours later, ice cubes! Or a reasonable facsimile thereof. They’re not really cubes. They’re more like half-slices of canned cranberry sauce. As if ice cube description is at all important. But it works. The Superwife is happy. I knowledgeably inform her that the first three loads must be discarded, system flush you know. You can read it in the manual, I did.
When I got home today she told me every once in a while she and the kids would open the freezer to see how many cubes we had. Sometimes it takes so little to make them happy. For a few days anyway, we’re living high on the hog. Tonight, at supper, to drink we had … ice water with non-cubic cubes.
http://publicserf.blogspot.com
Whine at me: publicserf@yahoo.com
-