Author: bob

The Joy Of Unsecured Access Points

Friends, this has been a hectic two weeks so I won’t apologize for the radio silence (okay, not too much). Between the work on the Lodge on the weekends and moving into the new digs in America’s Finest City, we’ve all been pretty busy—and preoccupied.

My roommates and I have managed to move all of our stuff from a 1,500 square foot house into a 850-ish bungalow. How did we do it? Smashing and tossing, that’s how! Wanna see?

Pretty tidy, eh? The owners of the place have done a nice job of rehabbing the inside and even painting the outside. They even managed to add a couple of bedrooms and a nice-sized bathroom to the back. Oh sure, the back yard is now smaller than the bed of the Mighty Dakota, but I don’t see us spending a lot of time back there (not that we could). I suppose I should post some pics of the interior, but not until we’ve fully unpacked.

The Damp Dog Lodge is another story entirely. I’m so unpacked that I don’t know what to do with all the stuff or where it’ll all go. The flag is unpacked…

…but that’s one of the only things I’ve found a real place for. Everything else is, well, up in the air. Speaking of up in the air, how about that earthquake, huh? There was a 5.6 magnitude quake about 17 miles away from the Lodge on Sunday morning and it lasted way too long for my comfort. I’ve said before that I don’t mind earthquakes. Hell, I’ve been through a bunch. Northridge, Whittier Narrows, Yucca Valley, but there was a fundamental difference with this one. There was no rumbling to alert us it was coming. On top of that, I was so sure that the house was going to come down around my ears that I ran outside. Not too smart, actually. That and watching the end of the deck wagging like a caffeinated puppy. Whew!

More pics of the Tub In The Laundry Room project for your viewing pleasure. We’re almost done, save for some paint and a shower curtain. You look now:

Boo! That’s so last week. Notice the beautiful rusty pipes in addition to the live electrical outlet right behind where the shower would be. Yes, the former owners bathed there. No, they didn’t die (at least I don’t think so) but they should have. Here’s an interim step:

…a little framey-framey. Today it looks much more like this…

The difference is that all the panelling is up as well as the moulding and floor tiles (self-adhesive vinyl, cheap and quick, just what I need for this project).

That’s it for now but posting should be more regular not that I’ve discovered this open wireless access point somewhere in the neighborhood.

Your best pal,

bob

NOTE: If you happen to be my former illustrious writing partner, please give me a call. ‘kay?

The Tao Of Kwikset

I don’t know about you, but when I receive the keys to a new place I get a little chill down my spine. Today it was concentrated between my shoulder blades (more on that in a bit) but it was there and palpable. Yes my friends, we really, not kidding, got the place. This is a relief on a number of levels: no more rants, no more drama, um…

Okay, the number is two. Sue me.

I think we’ll have a lovely time there since the neighborhood is coming up, the street is a dead end (no through traffic!), the landlord is charming and accommodating and proud of his work (justifiably), and The Soup Kitchen will be officially closed for business. “I’m hanging up my triangle,” says my sister. Sadly, she never had a real triangle. Maybe I should pick one up for her. You know, for old time’s sake.

Once again, I’m housesitting at The 1912 House. I find myself overcome with melancholy thoughts when I visit. When I spend a significant amount of time here, I can’t look at a single corner that I haven’t touched, that I haven’t labored over in some way. When I recall the good and warm feeling I enjoyed during my time here I can’t help but think that the folks who lived here before are pushing me back out to better things. How can a house turn sad all of the sudden? Is it possible for a simple building, a collection of timbers and mortar, to long for the care that it’s been lacking and communicate that need? Maybe yes. I like to think so, especially of this place.

Uh oh. Magical Thinking™ alert. Sorry for that.

As for the new rental house, it’s all that and a bag of chips, but it’s not mine. That’s fine though. I have my own joint to worry about. Refurbished tub, new walls, new floor (this is sounding familiar too! -ed Well sure, it’s all about the family after all. – bob) so that the kiddies can get a bath at the end of the day. You must know, mountain dirt is actually dirtier than sea level dirt. Right?

Your pal,

bob

Tiny Little Post For A Busy Monday

I think I’ve found a charming little bungalow for us to rent (sounds vaguely familiar, gee, let’s see… -ed Enough already! I think we get the point. -bob). The layout has a couple problems, like a bedroom whose only access to the rest of the house is through another bedroom, but beyond that I think it’s likeable if not lovable. A tiny lot means a tiny bit of gardening. The joint is close to the market and pretty close to the place I used to think of as my retirement home.

A problem? Maybe only tangentially. We’ll see.

My sister is on board (but has kicked her own search into overdrive due to my success) even though our roommate isn’t really convinced. Once they see it they’ll be sold. It’s just a matter of when—as usual.

Your faithful friend,

bob

Mrs. Smuckers, Line Seven…

Friends, this convoluted living situation is toast. Without going into too much (potentially libelous) detail, things between my nephew’s parents have taken a turn not only for the worse but in the ditch, down the embankment, and into the fluffy soft padded rocks of insanity below. Let’s put it this way, the fact that they make special evening jackets with extra long arms that buckle in the back in XXL comforts me to no end. (i thought you just took a “large.” – ed No, that would be a fall-back ensemble for the individual making my sister’s life difficult should the meds fail to take hold. – bob)

Our on again, off again plans to vacate the premises have taken on a new urgency as a result of this latest tirade. We’re back on like an espresso machine at an AA meeting.

So, anyway, if you have a three bedroom house in or around Mid City for rent at about $1,500 a month, I’m all ears. And read this carefully: NO MORE DRAMA. You hear me? None. Don’t need it. That crap stops now.

That said, I generated a little of my own this evening by boycotting dinner when Mr. “driver of this bus” showed up. I understand that a tense time was had by all, which is good only because my absence forced me to hold my tongue. Apparently, we all have to get along for a little while longer so my pouring methyl-ethyl-ketone on the fire was going to do nothing toward that end. But really, what would have been the harm? Those flames ARE invisible after all. Oh, wait…

On another, happier note (you sure? moving out seems pretty happy to me. – ed That’s true, and that’s why you get paid the big bucks. – bob) I have some nice snaps of the Lodge from last weekend. More flowers, more completed projects. I’ll post them as an update later this evening but I thought I’d hammer this thing out now. No time like the present, you know?

There’s further happiness in the near completion of the electronic medical records project at San Diego’s Omnipresent Charitable Organization. Things are falling into place nicely at the moment, so we can finally have a nearly paperless clinic. Dear Freshly Minted Doctors, I truly hope you can type ‘cuz next week we’re throwing away all the pens.

Photo update in a few…

– bob

UPDATE: A couple pictures (finally!):

Underexposed pretty flower shot! Also note that my new HP Deskjet creates prints of this that look like mud. Whee.

Ugly vinyl flooring in bathroom was no match for the terrible wrath brought down by the mighty scraper!

…nor could it stand up to the wanton covering afforded by, er, floor coverings!

Ahh, I feel much better now.

I Forgot

I remembered to pick up the dogs. I even remembered to fill up the tank and bring my toothbrush. Let’s take a second to list what I forgot to bring up to the Damp Dog Lodge:

• Camera. That’s particularly regrettable. Between the snow, blooming flowers, and foggy morning, there are plenty of happy snapping opportunities today. Not only that, but I’d really like to document the renovation process. No camera, no real proof that I did anything but goof off all weekend.
• Laundry detergent. There’s more detergent at the store, certainly. The dogs would prefer that I not go. Sorry kids, just don’t eat my books while I’m away.
• Printer. I guess that’s not such a big deal. After all, if I don’t have the camera, what photographs would I need to print?
• Records. Crates full of big vinyl platters (you may have seen examples on the walls at Planet Hollywood, what you may not know is that you can get sound out of them—even without lasers!). The crates and the dogs would’ve occupied the same space in the car. Guess which had to stay behind.
• Jacket. This was supposed to be the warm day of the weekend. If that’s the case, I wonder what tomorrow will look like.

Oh, I just discovered that I forgot to close the upstairs window at the Lodge last weekend. That coincides with leaving the other window open the week before that. Natch.

Clearly I’m losing my mind. Maybe note-taking will help.

Your, um, something,

– bob

What Do I Get? No Sleep At Night…

Yes, yes, yes. I missed World Worker’s Day, but really what is that anyway? As your Dad always wanted to remind you that every day is Mother’s Day, I’m not impressed by efforts by Hallmark and the Communist Party to appreciate the common worker. The world needs ditch diggers certainly, but I don’t think a single day does the work that the actual workers do justice. Politicians know this and pander to Joe Six-Pack all year long. Why can’t we?

No, I’m not running for office, but thanks for asking.

The Lodge remains as lodge-like as ever. I entertained my parents and Mr. and Mrs. Uncle on Saturday (read: no serious projects were started) but on Sunday I was able to get rid of hideous carpet and even hideouser fake wood panelling. That took two trips to the dump. Very confusing trips for the attendant.

“Hey, weren’t you here before?”

Why yes I was. (Norman? Norman Einstein? Is that really you?)

“Yeah, here you are right here in the log…”

You said then that it’d be okay for me to come back, is it still okay? (Prime the bag of leaves for pummeling if he says no)

“I guess so. There’s an awful lot of stuff back there though.”

(Hence two trips) You bet. Need a (broken) broom?

“Uh, no thanks.”

To think, he gave up a promising career in theoretical physics to mind the dump. How’s that for civic duty?

As far as the house hunt goes, it’s not going much of anywhere at the moment. I have some fantastic leads but I can’t seem to get my roommates to agree on much of anything at the moment. Pathetic, I know. Wouldn’t it be nice to know whether we can spend one or one and a half kilodollars? Two or three bedrooms? Off-street parking (I vote yes)? Hell, I’d even like to know a general vicinity to consider. As you’d imagine, I got nothing. Not a thing.

[Sigh.]

Anything else? I’m sure there is but I can’t imagine that it’d be interesting. Maybe this stuff isn’t interesting either, but at least it’s stuff!

No promises, but there are a couple pictures I need to take of the environs in America’s Finest City (cough!) tomorrow that I think you’ll enjoy. I need to get back on this horse after the spottiness of late so I hope that’ll do it.

Your pal,

bob

Your Monday, My Tuesday

Hey There Monkeys!

I was greeted this morning by a very curt blue screen message relating something about SMART detecting that the hard drive on my work peecee was nearing failure. Um, I knew that when it crashed on Friday, but whatever. The disease was terminal and the patient would need a brain transplant. I turned the Jeep Grand Livingroom towards Fry’s (“deev this!”) and picked up a brand spanking new, only expected to live another thirteen months (one month beyond the warranty), 80 GB laptop hard drive. The boss said that I should go ahead and buy a new one and the company will reimburse me. That scheme is fine at the beginning of the month, but I don’t have a credit card and the fake one I carry also has to pay the bills at a certain alpine chalet. But I need the drive now so I can recover the tools I use every day to get my job done. But the accounts payable department has their own schedule for reimbursement. But the bill payments went into the mailbox today. But I’m not so sure that there will be enough to cover the drive plus the bills plus the gas to get me back and forth to that very chalet plus the little extravagances during the week before the next paycheck comes (like eating and the parts to fix the terrible noise that the Jeep is making at the moment).

Some people have Mondays like this, and then they shoot up the place. Good thing it’s Tuesday, isn’t it?

I may have also mentioned that there’s no local mail delivery in my little slice of unincorporated Riverside County. That’s actually true. We all go to the Post Office to meet, greet, and pick up our mail (who knew?). The Verizon DSL ordering website doesn’t like that though. A delivery address that differs from the installation address is not so good for them. They don’t say why of course, but I presume that it’s because they use FedEx or UPS to deliver the included modem. It’s not so comfortable for those knuckleheads to deliver to their competitor, is it?

On another front, the weekend went surprisingly well despite my little slip-up. It turns out that the secrecy was designed not so much to shock as to limit the period of time my Mom would freak out about a house-load of people inspecting dust, lint, cobwebs, and whatever else she might be worried about. In that regard, I say, you’re going to retire, who cares?

Much to her credit, she didn’t worry about the house too much. We had a fine time, ate out a lot, and enjoyed each other’s company. That’s exactly how it was supposed to be. Mission accomplished.

More in a bit…

bob

He Wore Electric Boots And Mohair Suits…

Just a little aside: You’ve gotta hand it to those cardinals. Nowhere does it say that they absolutely need to elect a pope who’ll stick around for decades. Just select an old guy and he’ll be gone soon enough. Nice trick.

[fuzzy transition alert]

I’m almost forty myself, you know, but every time I would try to anticipate where I’d be by now it certainly wasn’t here. Hopping around from place to place like a bullfrog on the brown acid? This is getting ridiculous. What’s more, the roommate dramas are driving me completely insane. Roommates! Ladies and gentlemen, I’m convinced that the reason you grow up is to not have roommates. Who needs the grief?

At the moment, I’m outside. Why? Two of my roommates had plans this evening that were crushed and have gone to bed upstairs. My other roommate is having friends over to watch The O.C. downstairs. Need I say more? I thought not.

Certain pups and I will be heading to the desert this weekend. Unfortunately, I spilled the beans about my trip to my Mom. That was only a bad idea because everyone had (sorta, kinda, not really) warned me against talking about it, especially since they’re trying to throw a surprise party for her to celebrate her retirement from the school district as well as her birthday next week. My big mouth gets me into trouble again.

Geez, I’m depressed. How about some happy snaps?

Exhibit A: Notice the standard-issue, regulation cinder block that I upturned. Please also note the habitants of one of the holes.

Exhibit B: A close-up view of one of the inhabitants. Yes friends, that’s a big freakin’ only-Photoshopped-to-bring-out-the-detail ant (there’s a trend going on here. are you sure you didn’t buy a cabin on the bikini atoll? – ed Or strange gene mutation experiments in a rural mountain community? Where’s Vincent Price when you need him? – bob). Eeeek!

Exhibit C: More freakishness. Where did the red flowers come from? They weren’t there last weekend.

Exhibit C, Section b: Look at the frilly petals, won’t you? That just ain’t right neither. Plain and simple weird.

Exhibit D: In spite of all of this, the evil government scientists haven’t managed to shrink my Dad. He just built up the wood pile to unholy heights. I suspect we’re going to get a great big headache if that mess falls.

Your humbled by the sheer magnitude of it all pal,

bob

Thirty Days’ Notice

Oh, isn’t this just lovely. I know I haven’t said too much about the living arrangement I’ve arranged in America’s Finest City. I’ve rented a room at my sister’s house (which happens to be a six minute commute from the Omnipresent Charitable Organization) as has her friend and, well, my nephew (who doesn’t have to pay rent—yet). I can honestly say that it’s been circus-like here. It’s a duplex and my nephew’s dad is the landlord and also lives in the adjoining unit.

Cozy, no?

Not so much, it turns out. We were given our walking papers this evening so we’ll have to find a new joint very soon. Our roommate won’t be staying, I suspect, so it’ll just be my sister, the young master nephew, and me. We just don’t know where that new place will be. Beautiful City Heights? North Park? Somewhere else? Hope my back gets better before moving day.

Remember how I fell down the stairs? My elbow is much better now (certainly not broken, thanks for asking) but now my back is making its particular issues known. Granted, I’ve climbed a lot of ladders today installing the wireless bridge this morning (more on that in a bit) so I’m walking like an old man. Or maybe old woman.

Like my charming writing partner for instance, who is today officially much older than I am. Much, much older. Whew! So much older! Wow! Hard to believe.

She certainly wouldn’t have enjoyed the electromagnetic pummeling that came from the Cisco wireless bridge we set up this morning. You see, when you first fire up the gizmos, they’re set on full-tilt boogie, three-mile range, microwave your eyeballs in their sockets, maximum-intensity signal strength. It certainly had me running for my life. People in the front offices were scattering like ants at a square dance. “I dunno, I’ve got a headache.” Yeah, well, if your brain was being boiled, you’d get a little cranky too. We scaled back the power after the test, but wow, who knew? Okay, I guess most everybody.

There’s some other stuff to tell, but these are the bigger bits. The ones that floated up to the surface anyway. More tomorrow, along with the pictures I promised. The giant wood pile is not to be missed!

Your (very sore) pal,

bob

I Fell Down The Stairs

While carrying tools in my handrail hand, I headed down the stairs, lost my footing on the remaining silt, and tumbled. Now I find that my left elbow, wrist and hand are not functioning properly. My left hip? Not so good either. Pain? Plenty.

What an ignoble end to a glorious day. The temperature was moderate all day, the skies clear. My folks arrived for breakfast and rendered all kinds of help. We’re finished with a few windows (for now). The inside of the Lodge is actually clean. We even managed to relocate the wood pile away from the house to eliminate the fungus/ant/mold breeding ground.

I have pictures of all of this, but I’m tearing up because of the elbow and can’t see well enough to post them at the moment. I should be able to post them in the morning though.

Your pal,

bob

It’s April, Right?

Of course! Spring is in the air. Even the flowers are blooming…

But what explains this?

Snow, dear friends. Unexpected, crisp, sticking until noon, snow.

Fourth month, no?

Your pal,

bob

An Open Letter…

Dear America’s Flooring Contractors,

I hate you.

Staples. Great big nails driven through overly sharp tack strips. Padding bits everywhere. You’re not very nice.

For instance, why didn’t your stomachs turn when you perverted this;

into this;

You monsters.

– bob

Surprise!

“So, what are you going to do with that hideous carpet running up the stairs in the cabin?”

I thought I’d just replace it having pulled up a corner only to see a ratty board. Naturally, I presumed that there was nothing underneath but cheap subfloor.

It turns out that the ratty board was just the edge of a carpet tack strip. The rest of the flooring is nearly pristine tongue-and-groove pine. I say nearly because there are now a lot of nail holes to patch that will be left from the tack strips.

Maybe I can win after all! Hooray for the anti-carpet brigade!

Your pal,

bob

Really?

No, not really. Just kidding, as they say.

It’d be pretty neat to hear about a couple things that are in the pipe at this moment, but no such luck. Think they’re afraid that they wouldn’t be taken seriously? That I won’t believe them today?

Bah! I can’t win (not yet anyway).

Tap, tap, tap…

– bob

UPDATE: Nope. No update. No word. Nothing. Zilch. Forget it. [sigh]

A Nice, Soft Landing

Friends, as most likely was the case with a majority of you, this weekend has involved way too much driving. Unlike some of you though, I didn’t mind one bit (okay, maybe one bit, perhaps two bits, but certainly not a full four bits). They were all destinations worth arriving at. At least one of my fellow travelers did not share that opinion.

I arrived at the cabin on Saturday to be greeted by the folks (of all things!). They heard that I had heavy furniture to unload from the poor little Dakota and diverted fifty miles out of the way to my Aunt’s Easter-Eve festivities to help. I told them that I was perfectly capable of unloading the donated sofa/sleeper myself, but there they were and the job came off without a hitch. While not a surprise visit, it struck me how lucky I am to have their help.

My Aunt’s place is another seventy-five miles or so away from The Lodge, so the folks set off with haste after the moving job was complete. I loitered a bit to, well, loiter, then pointed the pickup down the twisty Banning road towards Riverside.

In this space I may have mentioned something about the Dodge Dakota’s handling prowess. I may have also said that it doesn’t have any. Something must be done about it, but in the meanwhile, the Banning road is strictly third gear work even while clipping the apexes and working the sweet spot on the Poppet Flat Carousel (I made that up, but it sounds like a cool road racing track feature, doesn’t it? what in hell are you talking about? – ed The 300 degree turn just past Poppet Flat! Duh! – bob). The scary Dakota oversteer mixed with its tendency towards unpredictable, last-second understeer make for a drive that will keep narcoleptics alert on stretches like that. Maybe that’s why I hadn’t noticed the sport bike boys on my tail for Jah knows how long.

Two young guys on brand new plastic superbike things were following way too close and had itchy wrists. It’s important to note that there are no legal passing opportunities anywhere on that road for twenty-five miles. It’s all double-yellow and if somebody is going thirty-five miles an hour, you figure out how long it’ll take to drive that distance if they don’t use the turn-outs. These boys, however, were rebels. Their cause was to go as fast as possible and I, along with the pickup in front of me, were keeping them from realizing their goal.

It’s also worth noting that I understand their dilemma completely. How were they to know that I was frightening myself every time I carried more speed into a corner than the Dodge would allow? All they knew, and rightly so, was that I was going too damn slow and not letting them by. Their first mistake though, was to take matters into their own hands.

They passed both of our pickups on a tight and blind left-hander, crossing into the opposing lane in the process. Completely into the opposing lane. No backing out, no kidding into the other lane. It scared the crap out of me and the guy in front nearly hit the guard rail getting out of their way. Two seconds later they were gone. Good for them, I thought. They survived a fantastically stupid maneuver and won’t learn a single thing from the experience except that it might be okay to try it again.

Or not.

Five minutes of plucking my way down the rest of the mountain—and retrieving a pounding pulmonary muscle from my esophagus—I, and my ill-handling compatriot, was greeted at another blind left sweeper by a man furiously waving flares urging us to stop. Now.

Sport bike boy #2 decided to get off his bike just past where we sat. At speed. Had he tried his passing maneuver again? Did the bike just fall out from underneath him? Oil on the road? Gravel? I wouldn’t stay to ask. All I knew was what I saw. A scraped-up kid lifting his shattered bike out of the lane, kicking the plastic bits to the curb and shaking his head in disgust. He looked okay, maybe a little dazed, and there were now a dozen other people who had stopped to help.

The flare guy waved me past the wreckage and I went. As I crossed the double-yellow line into this blind left-hand turn, into the opposing lane, it occurred to me that flare guy hadn’t actually looked down the road to see if anybody was charging up the hill to meet me. I took it on faith that I should just go, that everything would be okay.

The difference, I suppose, is that I’m going to actually learn the lesson that the boys hadn’t. Or wouldn’t.

Happy Easter!

– bob