Mountains
Friday, December 31, 2010
Monday, December 27, 2010
Christmas Regrets
I fairly well hate giving and recieving gifts. It's a fun tradition, but I think it has gone way overboard into gross materialism. In addition, I'm too much of a perfectionist so the process tends to get gummed up.
First, I'm a cheap skate, and I always figure out the perfect gift after I purchased the gift I thought was perfect.
Then, people give me gifts, and I feel guilty for recieving nice stuff or having had anyone spend money on me, or miffed that whatever gift was too big/small/ugly/redundant. Then I feel guilty for being miffed.
If I was to architect the tradition, all gifts for the season would have to fit into the persons stocking. The could accumulate there as people visited over the holiday. January 4th could be stocking day. "What did santa bring? Oh neat! Now get on the bus, don't be late for school..."
Fortunately, this Christmas was low on the materialistic end. There was a balance of guilt and genuinely thoughtful gifts.
It was fun watching my brother unwrap all the chocolate bars I got him. It is intriguing to see reactions.
I also got to spend lots of time with people I love. We sat around, drank coffee, talked, and most of them didn't get me anything at all.
The weather turned sour, so we had to leave before I was socialised to exhaustion.
The whole day was pretty magnificent.
Of course, I stupidly left my camera in my bag the whole time.
I regret not taking a few photos.
First, I'm a cheap skate, and I always figure out the perfect gift after I purchased the gift I thought was perfect.
Then, people give me gifts, and I feel guilty for recieving nice stuff or having had anyone spend money on me, or miffed that whatever gift was too big/small/ugly/redundant. Then I feel guilty for being miffed.
If I was to architect the tradition, all gifts for the season would have to fit into the persons stocking. The could accumulate there as people visited over the holiday. January 4th could be stocking day. "What did santa bring? Oh neat! Now get on the bus, don't be late for school..."
Fortunately, this Christmas was low on the materialistic end. There was a balance of guilt and genuinely thoughtful gifts.
It was fun watching my brother unwrap all the chocolate bars I got him. It is intriguing to see reactions.
I also got to spend lots of time with people I love. We sat around, drank coffee, talked, and most of them didn't get me anything at all.
The weather turned sour, so we had to leave before I was socialised to exhaustion.
The whole day was pretty magnificent.
Of course, I stupidly left my camera in my bag the whole time.
I regret not taking a few photos.
Friday, December 17, 2010
Carnage
I knew that the Volvo was going be more than just purchase price, insurance, and registration fees. There was a lot wrong with it. The rear lights were foozy, the exhaust was swiss cheese, the front turn signal cover was gone, and the mechanic had suggested that numerous other subsystems needed work... the brakes, the timing belt. There is usually hidden costs in getting a well used car. After all, if it's free, there's probably something wrong with it.
I had set some limit in the range of $1000 to bring it back to life. I had estimated that it would be about $600, though I hoped that it would be less.
In the end, the exhaust was cheaper, but it wouldn't pass inspection without replacing the rear brake rotors and shoes. When I replaced the driver side brakes, i discovered that the outer piston had seized. The piston would not easily go back into the calliper using the C-clamp. Unfortunately, no one stocks that calliper (apparently there are 36, 38, and 40mm callipers for these cars, auto parts stores cover their bases by carrying none of them.)
I needed to get the car to pass inspection, lest I get ticketed in my driveway (the car was already branded with a pink failure sticker...) I forced the piston back in to the calliper by bracing the clamp against the hub and pushing with all my might on the handle. It really hurt. The piston eventually went back in, but when I had re-assembled the brakes, it was dragging the rear brake worse than before. I had wondered why the car wasn't rolling back on hills. The first time I drove it, the rear end had a lovely warm aroma of singed brake pad. The wheel was also a little warm by the time I got to work. Whatever the jam was, it was very unidirectional. To pass inspection, I drove to the strip mall behind the inspection station and let the car sit for 20 minutes until the wheel smelled and felt normal, and then took it in. The mechanic saw shiney new discs and pads and gave me a passing sticker. Woo!
I replaced the calliper this last weekend. Now it rolls back on hills and smells fine. There was a small burn spot the size of a dime on the outer pad. Very weird.
So, while I didn't have to get a new catalytic converter, I did end up spending that money on the brake system. I think, if the car does not throw a rod or do something too insane before spring, it will be getting new shocks. The rear shocks are leaking and the front in does not have a uniform bounce. I also have new anti-sway linkages to install, and I need to fix the clutch clevis.
Under the dash of my Volvo 740. It comes apart very easily. Which is good. because I have to take it apart a lot.
Symptoms of warn clutch pedal clevis: low pedal, with lots of play, and tons of ground plastic bits at the hinge.
New and old mufflers.
Brakes.
I have used nearly half a jar of anti-seize compound keeping my 20 year old cars from rusting together. Hubs, discs, rotors, and rims are among the worst offenders.
Which of these pads was on the seized calliper?
I had set some limit in the range of $1000 to bring it back to life. I had estimated that it would be about $600, though I hoped that it would be less.
In the end, the exhaust was cheaper, but it wouldn't pass inspection without replacing the rear brake rotors and shoes. When I replaced the driver side brakes, i discovered that the outer piston had seized. The piston would not easily go back into the calliper using the C-clamp. Unfortunately, no one stocks that calliper (apparently there are 36, 38, and 40mm callipers for these cars, auto parts stores cover their bases by carrying none of them.)
I needed to get the car to pass inspection, lest I get ticketed in my driveway (the car was already branded with a pink failure sticker...) I forced the piston back in to the calliper by bracing the clamp against the hub and pushing with all my might on the handle. It really hurt. The piston eventually went back in, but when I had re-assembled the brakes, it was dragging the rear brake worse than before. I had wondered why the car wasn't rolling back on hills. The first time I drove it, the rear end had a lovely warm aroma of singed brake pad. The wheel was also a little warm by the time I got to work. Whatever the jam was, it was very unidirectional. To pass inspection, I drove to the strip mall behind the inspection station and let the car sit for 20 minutes until the wheel smelled and felt normal, and then took it in. The mechanic saw shiney new discs and pads and gave me a passing sticker. Woo!
I replaced the calliper this last weekend. Now it rolls back on hills and smells fine. There was a small burn spot the size of a dime on the outer pad. Very weird.
So, while I didn't have to get a new catalytic converter, I did end up spending that money on the brake system. I think, if the car does not throw a rod or do something too insane before spring, it will be getting new shocks. The rear shocks are leaking and the front in does not have a uniform bounce. I also have new anti-sway linkages to install, and I need to fix the clutch clevis.
Under the dash of my Volvo 740. It comes apart very easily. Which is good. because I have to take it apart a lot.
New and old mufflers.
Brakes.
I have used nearly half a jar of anti-seize compound keeping my 20 year old cars from rusting together. Hubs, discs, rotors, and rims are among the worst offenders.
Which of these pads was on the seized calliper?
Tuesday, December 14, 2010
Two Ends, Niether of them Pleasant
The dog has two possible ends.
One is growling. The other is squeaking.
One is growling. The other is squeaking.
Monday, December 13, 2010
The Memories I Can Not Explain
Sorted through some 600 photos this weekend. Almost 1/4 done.
I think you've seen some of these before. But have you? I don't know.
Dog.
Shimadzu Quadrupole.
Other Stuff.
I think you've seen some of these before. But have you? I don't know.
Dog.
Shimadzu Quadrupole.
Other Stuff.
Thursday, December 9, 2010
Tuesday, December 7, 2010
Reverse Gag Order
Today, I got the official email -notarized, stamped, signed, scanned, and emailed- instructing me that I should not view any information that is classified, and yet publicly available. In essence, just because something is real, I should take no effort to acknowledge it. This must be what happens when a bureaucracy goes into denial.
The Big Freeze
Coldsnap is overstatement. It is a more like a wind break.
It's not really that cold. It's not like when an artic front blows through NH and your cheeks freeze by the end of the driveway, and you know if you slip on an ice sheet it's going to hurt like a punch in the spot, and the dog pees in the street and tugs for the door. It really is not cold, the Dog still wants to walk.
But the motherloving wind makes it a slog to physically get out the door. The hug gusts spook The Dog and then you get pummelled by the inner door, the screen door, then your scarf and unzipped coat, then by The Dog that is worked up because you're staggering around like a buck with a few arrows sticking out.
I checked the weather to see when the wind would let up. Alas, not until the end of the week. Until then... well, damn. Tie on that scarf.
Mother winter is cranky crone.
My brother reports that he's finally ordered shoes. I bet his toenails have blown off.
After winning the battle with the door and my insulating accoutrement, I drug him down the Urban Sterilisation Project for another look. The thing is a profound edifice to something. It's pretty miraculous in a couple of ways. It appears to have appeared overnight. Earlier this fall it went from houses under construction to trees and grass in the span of a work week. Token trees and grass, of course. The condos are huge, three story homes, complete with two and three car garages. They are somewhere north of 2,300 square feet. These things are all over the county. It would be wrong to call them a cancer. Someone has tried very hard to make living with a bunch of people in a small space as outwardly appealing as possible.
Even though there are three fundamental models, (the Dick-, the By-, and the Ding-, whatever...), they all have different combinations of wood, paint, brick, and stucco in the facade to make them appear unique. The paint it tastefully chosen to make them appear professional. The front of them has small shrubs, small trees, and a short strip of grass. There is a 5 foot stretch of grass between the walk and the side walk. You could spit into the middle of a 5 lane street from the doorstep. Hours of fun there. The lack of trees means that the wind is especially harsh, and there is lot of loose trash wedged in odd places, in contrast to the fresh paint, crisp bricks, and white siding.
There is a curious array of vehicles parked in the garages. The garage side makes not attempt at refinement. It's a gaping maw with a warbly landing strip of asphalt that stretches the entire length of the building. Trash cans and a/c condensers stanchion the corners. There are decks over the garages. A mixture of cars ranging from BMW to beaters lull in the morning blue. I hear drums, and look up high, to see a child with a drumset in the top window. He stops when we make eye contact. Yea, windows work both directions. I look away and keep walking. The drums start again.
The conclusions that I can draw about the occupants are many. These people definitely want to seem unique and sophisticated. They either hate being outside, or don't have time to be outside. Or can't afford it. (With a crib that big, why not cut off the back and make a yard?) Are people to busy working to have yards? To busy surfing the web? They clearly ever linger unconfined for long. Perhaps they fear open spaces. The graffiti is also an interesting fixture. Someone has knocked down flag polls and spray painted for-sale signs. Do people look through those big windows and notice? Do they care?
I feel a stupid superiority complex in living in an old house and actually having a yard, and a little piece and quiet. It's not living in the woods miles from the highway quiet, but at least I can't see a stoplight from my front door. Sure, the rent is insane, the foundation is sagging, raking is a drag, and the insects are unwelcome. At least it feels somehow real.
It's not really that cold. It's not like when an artic front blows through NH and your cheeks freeze by the end of the driveway, and you know if you slip on an ice sheet it's going to hurt like a punch in the spot, and the dog pees in the street and tugs for the door. It really is not cold, the Dog still wants to walk.
But the motherloving wind makes it a slog to physically get out the door. The hug gusts spook The Dog and then you get pummelled by the inner door, the screen door, then your scarf and unzipped coat, then by The Dog that is worked up because you're staggering around like a buck with a few arrows sticking out.
I checked the weather to see when the wind would let up. Alas, not until the end of the week. Until then... well, damn. Tie on that scarf.
Mother winter is cranky crone.
My brother reports that he's finally ordered shoes. I bet his toenails have blown off.
After winning the battle with the door and my insulating accoutrement, I drug him down the Urban Sterilisation Project for another look. The thing is a profound edifice to something. It's pretty miraculous in a couple of ways. It appears to have appeared overnight. Earlier this fall it went from houses under construction to trees and grass in the span of a work week. Token trees and grass, of course. The condos are huge, three story homes, complete with two and three car garages. They are somewhere north of 2,300 square feet. These things are all over the county. It would be wrong to call them a cancer. Someone has tried very hard to make living with a bunch of people in a small space as outwardly appealing as possible.
Even though there are three fundamental models, (the Dick-, the By-, and the Ding-, whatever...), they all have different combinations of wood, paint, brick, and stucco in the facade to make them appear unique. The paint it tastefully chosen to make them appear professional. The front of them has small shrubs, small trees, and a short strip of grass. There is a 5 foot stretch of grass between the walk and the side walk. You could spit into the middle of a 5 lane street from the doorstep. Hours of fun there. The lack of trees means that the wind is especially harsh, and there is lot of loose trash wedged in odd places, in contrast to the fresh paint, crisp bricks, and white siding.
There is a curious array of vehicles parked in the garages. The garage side makes not attempt at refinement. It's a gaping maw with a warbly landing strip of asphalt that stretches the entire length of the building. Trash cans and a/c condensers stanchion the corners. There are decks over the garages. A mixture of cars ranging from BMW to beaters lull in the morning blue. I hear drums, and look up high, to see a child with a drumset in the top window. He stops when we make eye contact. Yea, windows work both directions. I look away and keep walking. The drums start again.
The conclusions that I can draw about the occupants are many. These people definitely want to seem unique and sophisticated. They either hate being outside, or don't have time to be outside. Or can't afford it. (With a crib that big, why not cut off the back and make a yard?) Are people to busy working to have yards? To busy surfing the web? They clearly ever linger unconfined for long. Perhaps they fear open spaces. The graffiti is also an interesting fixture. Someone has knocked down flag polls and spray painted for-sale signs. Do people look through those big windows and notice? Do they care?
I feel a stupid superiority complex in living in an old house and actually having a yard, and a little piece and quiet. It's not living in the woods miles from the highway quiet, but at least I can't see a stoplight from my front door. Sure, the rent is insane, the foundation is sagging, raking is a drag, and the insects are unwelcome. At least it feels somehow real.
Wednesday, December 1, 2010
Fowl Pie
Thanksgiving was nice and quiet. Almost quiet enough. My inner introvert is ultra needy, and festive holidays are not usually what my spirit is craving for recharge. Hiding in my office, hiking, climbing, or a long winding road with the stereo turned up too loud is soul food. I never can get enough.
We did not coordinate thanksgiving well this year. I dropped the ball on planning, so it was just the 4 of us. (Girly, Alex, me, dog...)
I think it was nice to hide from the big bad old world and do something manageable. There are so many people here that it’s nice to pretend that I am special and unique. We should stop breeding so we can really appreciate ourselves. We’ve perfected reproducing. Which, upon reflection, is surprising given that i’m pretty sure we haven’t actually perfected sex. Another one of life’s little chicken and egg problems.
Alex brought all kinds of digital goodness with him. He managed to fix the Stinkpad in less time than it took to track down the bug that caused the video to crash. I think he did it before I was done with cooking breakfast on Thursday, though it may have been washing dishes. I don’t think i’ve turned off the computer since then. It runs for hours and is pleasantly snappy.
He also brought me some video cards, so now I can play left4dead. I haven't been in bed before midnight any day this week.
I tried roasting Cornish game hens on the charcoal grill. I’ve never roasted a chicken before, much less a game hen, much less on the grill. My previous experience with meat and grills gave me the confidence to just light it up and throw the birds on. That and the spare pizza in the freezer. I was sure to lubricate them barbecue sauce as a hedge. I used a little too much charcoal, so one side was a bit over grilled, but the juices extinguished some of the coals, and we had well done birds under an hour. The meat thermometer will have to wait for another year. The hens have about enough meat for two people each, especially if there’s a salad involved. Other than that, their flavor was not easily discernible from other forms of chicken. Apparently all forms of chicken taste like chicken. Life is full of surprises.
Alex brought vegetarian main dish as well.I didn’t want him to be picking around the edges with ‘only’ salad, potatoes, cornbread, and stuffing. He made spicy potato soup, which I intended to have for lunch this week, but I ate it all in one sitting. He also brought an amazing loaf of sourdough. Real San Fransisco sourdough.
There was a bottle of wine and pie in there too. My memory gets foggy after that. It must have been ok. I think we watched a bunch of movies. Yes. That was it.
On friday, he left, and I spent the day hiding in my office doing whatever magic was necessary to make the computers work. I should look to invest in linux games. A complete windows XP installation takes something like 6 hours just to get updated, much less get files transfered and installed. My xubuntu discs takes maybe 10 minutes to get live, and another hour or so of letting rsync clone my home folder.
Saturday was a whirlwind of family and driving... a 2.5 hour drive to the other end of the state. Our family seemed generally pleased we took the time to come. We ate a lot and talked a lot. I should send thank you cards to key players.
We took the Swedish Brick. To my relief, it didn’t break down on the trip. Heated seats and manual transmissions are amazing bits of luxury. The extra space allowed for all of us, with zero mandatory dog cuddling. He’s cute, but the drool accumulates on you after a while. It’s easy to guess who was riding bitch, if you know what I mean.
I spent sunday morning replacing the exhaust system. The knowledge I gained doing the same job on the Boat last year proved fruitful. I used the drimel to cut nice seams in rotted pipes and was able to replace the mufflers(!) in about 3 hours.
Unfortunately, it failed inspection because the rear brakes are worn out and the power steering pump belt wasn’t tight enough (they inspect that? wtf! (also: isn't fine if it's not slipping or squealing?)). I picked up pads and rotors. I think next saturday will be volvo day too. I’ll change the oil while I’m at it. My hands are covered with scratches and splinters from this little project. I need to order a new clutch linkage (the original has a deep groove worn in it from the bajillion presses the clutch has gotten over time),fix the heater so it will blow hot air on the floor, and fix or replace the radios attachment to the antenna, so that we can listen to NPR. I am beginning to suspect fixing things is my hobby.
We did not coordinate thanksgiving well this year. I dropped the ball on planning, so it was just the 4 of us. (Girly, Alex, me, dog...)
I think it was nice to hide from the big bad old world and do something manageable. There are so many people here that it’s nice to pretend that I am special and unique. We should stop breeding so we can really appreciate ourselves. We’ve perfected reproducing. Which, upon reflection, is surprising given that i’m pretty sure we haven’t actually perfected sex. Another one of life’s little chicken and egg problems.
Alex brought all kinds of digital goodness with him. He managed to fix the Stinkpad in less time than it took to track down the bug that caused the video to crash. I think he did it before I was done with cooking breakfast on Thursday, though it may have been washing dishes. I don’t think i’ve turned off the computer since then. It runs for hours and is pleasantly snappy.
He also brought me some video cards, so now I can play left4dead. I haven't been in bed before midnight any day this week.
I tried roasting Cornish game hens on the charcoal grill. I’ve never roasted a chicken before, much less a game hen, much less on the grill. My previous experience with meat and grills gave me the confidence to just light it up and throw the birds on. That and the spare pizza in the freezer. I was sure to lubricate them barbecue sauce as a hedge. I used a little too much charcoal, so one side was a bit over grilled, but the juices extinguished some of the coals, and we had well done birds under an hour. The meat thermometer will have to wait for another year. The hens have about enough meat for two people each, especially if there’s a salad involved. Other than that, their flavor was not easily discernible from other forms of chicken. Apparently all forms of chicken taste like chicken. Life is full of surprises.
Alex brought vegetarian main dish as well.I didn’t want him to be picking around the edges with ‘only’ salad, potatoes, cornbread, and stuffing. He made spicy potato soup, which I intended to have for lunch this week, but I ate it all in one sitting. He also brought an amazing loaf of sourdough. Real San Fransisco sourdough.
There was a bottle of wine and pie in there too. My memory gets foggy after that. It must have been ok. I think we watched a bunch of movies. Yes. That was it.
On friday, he left, and I spent the day hiding in my office doing whatever magic was necessary to make the computers work. I should look to invest in linux games. A complete windows XP installation takes something like 6 hours just to get updated, much less get files transfered and installed. My xubuntu discs takes maybe 10 minutes to get live, and another hour or so of letting rsync clone my home folder.
Saturday was a whirlwind of family and driving... a 2.5 hour drive to the other end of the state. Our family seemed generally pleased we took the time to come. We ate a lot and talked a lot. I should send thank you cards to key players.
We took the Swedish Brick. To my relief, it didn’t break down on the trip. Heated seats and manual transmissions are amazing bits of luxury. The extra space allowed for all of us, with zero mandatory dog cuddling. He’s cute, but the drool accumulates on you after a while. It’s easy to guess who was riding bitch, if you know what I mean.
I spent sunday morning replacing the exhaust system. The knowledge I gained doing the same job on the Boat last year proved fruitful. I used the drimel to cut nice seams in rotted pipes and was able to replace the mufflers(!) in about 3 hours.
Unfortunately, it failed inspection because the rear brakes are worn out and the power steering pump belt wasn’t tight enough (they inspect that? wtf! (also: isn't fine if it's not slipping or squealing?)). I picked up pads and rotors. I think next saturday will be volvo day too. I’ll change the oil while I’m at it. My hands are covered with scratches and splinters from this little project. I need to order a new clutch linkage (the original has a deep groove worn in it from the bajillion presses the clutch has gotten over time),fix the heater so it will blow hot air on the floor, and fix or replace the radios attachment to the antenna, so that we can listen to NPR. I am beginning to suspect fixing things is my hobby.
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