One year ago today: December 6, 2015, the original Z-S Theory.
Five years ago today: December 6, 2011, Cuther’s Rule of Electronics.
Nine years ago today: December 6, 2007, Trader John’s closes.
Random years ago today: December 6, 2003, the definition of a Canadian.
JZ was on the phone first thing, but I’ve decided to carry on with the floor. I can’t wait any longer and I need the experience of working with the jacks before he arrives. Why? Because then it takes much more time, remember JZ and I are personality and background opposites. We argue more today than when we met 15 years ago because we didn’t argue back then when we should have. An example is good old tape measures. I own around eight of them. One in every junk drawer, tool box, vehicle, tool pouch, and work bench.
It gets the job done, but only if you have all the time left in the world. Like I said, opposites. He likes women I can’t stand. Now I find out the guy is even allergic to some spices, at least I think that’s what he means.
He’s got the bucks to buy all the tape measures he wants, but since he’s got one somewhere, he will not go buy another. And no way do I lend out my tools to anybody like that, pal, you know it. Don’t even ask. I get an extra tape measure every time I have a Harbor Freight coupon, so some of mine are still in the package—and you can’t borrow those, either. Read my lips. Har!
These photos show my experimental procedures to raising that floor one inch. This is with the scissors jack and you can see the most I succeeded was slightly less than a quarter of an inch. While the gap with the concrete block is visible, this gap has to be made large enough to slip a 1” treated lumber spacer and set the joist plate back down. I failed this morning, but that is part of the deal. They never fall who never climb.
After an hour’s effort, I’ve determined the house requires the 20+ ton hydraulic jacks after all. The scissors jack will lift it, but only with probably dangerous effort. Also, the scissors are so slow, it allows the jack pallet time to sink into the soft surface dirt, see photo. At the rate it goes, it would require extending the jack high enough that teetering becomes a risk. I won’t do it.
Here’s a style of photo you have not seen here because I didn’t compose them until recently. This shows a “before and after” comparison from periodic updates I mail to JZ. I had to develop this photo style to keep him in the loop. Hey, it’s not like I don’t know he’s fixing up his condo for only one reason. He wants to rent it out and check out this country living. He underestimates the problems of renting. You can’t really live 200 miles away. But it’s all good.
1960 Aermacchi “Chimera”
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NOON
I’m near the end of “Octopussy”, a title that I can see would appeal to the Grecian Formula Brut Cologne crowd of the era. It has the usual Bond action and car chases, but I’m not buying the part where the guy steals a fortune in jewels and runs “back to India”. India is the kind of place you steal jewels to get the hell away from.
It finally rained, cooping me inside so I dug out an old favorite DVD. It never made the Oscars, but I identify not with the main character, but with his interaction with the world. Remember “Arthur”, the rich kid who can’t do a thing for himself? It’s the ancient plot where he must marry the gal or lose his inheritance but he’s in love with the tour guide lady. That’s not the interesting thing for me, but his take it or leave it attitude toward what other people think. That part, I find thoroughly entertaining.
When it rains, my yard takes on a strong aroma of incense but only momentarily. There are no magnolias or blossoms nearby. The cardinals go crazy at the feeder before the rain. I wonder if that’s one of those Mohican folklore efforts. If it lets up, meet me at the library. Anyway, back to Arthur, the part I like is how he view things from a point of view that makes perfect sense if you have an infinite supply of money. He turns down deals others would leap at, and he’s always right because he isn’t tempted by the hype. And I identify with that.
It’s getting gloomy by siesta time and I was famished. Zeke has taken to sleeping under the red scooter when it rains. Goofy me, instead of a proper meal, I kept nibbling away at some pork strips until I’d eaten the whole supply. Shallow-fried in butter, currie, and sunflower oil. With salt. Check back later, this is an unusual rain, a very light west coast drizzle. The kind that reminds one of old girlfriends when nothing else does.
NIGHT
I priced out a 50-ton jack. The lighter [20+ ton] jacks won’t suffice. There is an ignorable price differential between the 20, 30, and 50 ton models and I’ve grown weary of what doesn’t work. Shortly after my decision to buy [the 50 ton], Agt. R calls to say he has a “house jack” in the shed. All it needs is to be “un-seized”. I happen to have a lot of robot oil, silicon, and grease that does just that. Since that would save me a hundred bucks, I’ll zip over there tomorrow morning. The jack must collapse to below 9-1/4” or I can’t use it.
There was time for a further inventory of the window screens. The house has eight windows and came with a full matching set of screens. They need touch-up repairs, except one that looks like it had been stepped on. I already have the tools and molding. I could patch the screens which have small holes, but I’m leaning more toward replacing the entire mesh [on those units]. After all, this is West Nile country.
Next, I ran into that guitar player from a month ago, the one about to retire. We jammed at his place in November, but he didn’t want to commit to a band, remember? He never returned my calls and I’m far beyond okay with that. It’s all show business. He flagged me down to explain, and his explanation was so time-worn that I know he’s honest. After we played, he said he had so much fun at it that the next day he suffered severe joint pain. This happens to me when I play guitar, a kind of tennis elbow. He apologized but the bottom line is stage work requires stamina.
That caused me take a hard look at my situation. How do I even know I can deal with a four hour gig? It brings back memories of when I first played bass on stage. I had that old “war club” Peavy and didn’t realize [how badly] it was torturing my back, shoulders, and arms. How many times I considered playing sitting down due to that. I never did because sitting takes a huge chunk out of your audience appeal. It sends the wrong message, although I have no doubt age will eventually force me to do it anyway.
Last Laugh
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