Search This Blog

Yesteryear

Friday, March 3, 2017

March 3, 2017

Yesteryear
One year ago today: March 3, 2016, a cabin in Tennessee.
Five years ago today: March 3, 2012, are telemarketers human?
Nine years ago today: March 3, 2008, down in the Keys.
Random years ago today: March 3, 2005, the parking lot spy.

           Maybe sad, but those sunflowers that took root themselves may not be hardy enough to make it in the partial shade. One stak gre six feet away in somewhat brighter shade and it is easily outperforming the pack. I was surprised how shallow the root system was when I accidentally bumped one and killed it. Talk about one flimsy life-form. It was such a pleasant morning, me, the last guy who would ever do yard work, I transplanted some shrubbery and raked two bags of leaves. Ladies, get me now before I devolve into a total couch potato.
           The primary event of the morning was I clamped the bedroom wiring to a temporary grounding bar, the excitement reached such a pitch I could hardly contain myself. Then, I made three appointments to make sure all this fast living isn’t more than I can handle. My point of view is this is all excellent exercise, but I’d still like a few second opinions. When Taylor comes to the door, I want the energy to show her around the only place left in the of USA to really get away from it all.

           Don’t conclude I’m not following electronics because I’ve not done much lately. In fact, for some of you, this could be your first knowledge of “Right to Repair, but you’ve experienced it. That’s the lobby that says the consumer, not the manufacturer, should have the right to have his electronics repaired anywhere he wants, or to do it himself. As it stands, this would void the warrantee—and that is what the legal battle is all about. If you use an unlocked cell phone, that is where you’ve seen this in action before.
           Until today, I thought this organization was just more consumer advocates who should have read this blog back in the 80s, when I began warning the world about the bad things Sony was up to. And I still blame Sony for establishing the whole “service contract” and “authorized repair dealership” scam. This rip-off was documented right here in this blog long before these others came along. You can find every element of the warranty scam right here in this blog, so long ago that I was called names for pointing it out. Who’s the mark now. Me or the saps who lost a fortune on service contracts before they woke up.

           After reading the link above, I concede that this group has a deeper, if different, grasp on the legal fundamentals of this Asiatic swindle. It has been copied by too many domestic corporations. My original objection was the Sony “repair” sting. Long-term readers recollect what I said about the “shops” never having any spare parts and when they did order them, they cost 2/3rds as much as a new product. Before I studied robotics, I was swayed by their claims that only qualified service personnel could make repairs. You should read the link. This blog doesn’t always get it exactly right or complete the first ime, but it sure as hell gets it first too often to ignore.

Picture of the day.
Jatayu Nature Park
Remember to use BACK ARROW to return to blog.

           Any way you slice it, running in these electrical outlets takes me 1-1/2 hours each. I could cut corners but I prefer the satisfaction of doing it right. That time includes any drilling and pulling the wire, but not running the cable from the distribution panel. There are plenty of negative ways to interpret how long I’m taking, but none would make sense with my work ethic. My point is, to make any money doing this work, I would have to charge $90 per receptacle plus materials. Who’d pay that?
           For chasers, I finally moved that exterior light to a strategic location beside the double window. Man, was that wiring Mickey-Moused or what. Trust me, nothing else of mention happened in Lakeland today, so allow me to point out some features of this otherwise ordinary-looking photograph. The first thing you see is the ratty old wiring, a mix of 1946 metallic and a lamp power cord, spliced with a mix of twist-ons and electrical tape. This has all been replaced with proper wiring. The mounting plate on the wall is also my addition, it is the base used for ceiling fans. So it’s far superior to screwing the fixture on the wall as it was before.

           You can also see the center hole where the wiring has been moved to the protected area between the interior studs. Man, I was up and down that ladder 25 times to fix this mess. Visible is the paint peeling from the siding, this area has not been sanded yet. You try to use a belt sander from a ladder. Say, that reminds me, the scaffolding from Agt. R, well, just now it’s holding up a boat. He forgot to mention that part. (But I think he wants the boat owner to have a reason he’s taking it back all of sudden.)

One-Liner of the Day:
“When Australian customs asked if I had any felony convictions
I told them I wasn’t aware that was still a requirement.”

           Conditions were ideal, so I stayed working on the wiring. I did go out for coffee at mid-afternoon, otherwise it was all electrical wiring. Here’s a picture that shows at least the attempt at quality is there. The bedroom has two separate circuits, wired so that every second outlet or socket remains live if a breaker trips. That’s the double wire effect you see here as I pull cable for the final leg of the room. You may also note the new lumber with three 2x4s. This is not an error, this is a jack, a cripple, and a stud that coincidentally met up. The tarpaper under the sill is another improvement not present on the original.
           Once more, I found I thoroughly enjoyed the work. Even the part of cussing when I couldn’t find where I laid my wire stripper is part-adventure when it is your own place. I’ve owned houses before, but never lived in them plus I did not like even similar work back in my day. Don’t pooh-pooh what I’m saying here, I would not waste my time telling you about this effect if it was not real. I could have stayed working till midnight if my endurance quota would have allowed it.

           Remember that paint brush with JZ’s name on it? Yeah, well I wrapped it up and mailed it to him. While he gets regular reports of the work done in his absence, he tends to presume that other things are going on. Like he thinks I’ve already re-shingled the roof and am just not saying. Wrong, he’s got the full accounting of the work and he should have figured out by now this is going to take me forever. So the paint brush is to remind him he’s missing out on the experience and the camaraderie of the house project. Let me add a few comments on that.
           For all we’ve yakked about it, all such work we’ve done before was not as part of a team with the two of us. And I won’t go partners unless I know that work ethics and conditions are compatible. In every case, we either worked alone or at least semi-autonomously. The closest we had to an organized job was the time we painted dad’s house. Which took three months because I could only be there weekends and dad would not let me climb any ladders. Partnerships, like music bands and dating non-blonde women, are largely a process of finding somebody you don’t want to kill after the first six months.

           I’m also saying my complete experience to date, precious little as it has been, was working for somebody else. Why else would I strip it to the studs and wire an entire bedroom? There was also the aspect of working by the hour which can take the gratification out of anything. I realize I’m gaining. I can now expertly trim, bend, and screw-connect a receptacle now without struggling with each wire like I used to. That’s satisfaction and pride, two elements sadly missing from the job climate of post-NAFTA America.
           What? I heard that. I’ll have you know I both spoke out and voted against NAFTA and such “globalization” schemes that altered American dominance of the world markets—and most of your parents called me down over it. Yeah, well it ain’t me that lost my Enron pension and went back to work stocking shelves. It ain’t me who became the mall cop or shelled out mortgage payments until the month before I got Social Security—because that’s how I spell l-o-s-e-r. From my point of view America should have kept out of the world’s business and by now, we’d own the world’s business. Maybe America isn’t perfect, but would you prefer be owned by a Russian, a Chinese, or an Arab?

ADDENDUM
           So there I am, reading some junk mail. What’s this, Lakeland happenings, section “Clubs and Organizations”. Great! Let’s scan through the list and see which ones I’d fit into: Cancer Society, Legion, Realtors, Cycling Events, Baseball League, Eastside Positive Action, Golden Agers, Main Street Beautification, Farm Bureau, Industry Advisory Panel, Sports Marketing, Athletic Booster, and Zonta Club. You know, if it’s all the same to you, I’m going to sit this one out. Tiddly-winks, anyone?
           During my coffee breaks, I listened to some more chapters of “Altar of Eden”. You would either love or hate sitting alongside me for this. Like the TV and radio, I talk back to the narrator, often mimicking or paraphrasing anything they say that isn’t right up to spec. I’ll further point out figures of speech and correct pronunciation errors. And I’m a past-master at picking out unintentional puns and innuendo. On the other hand, I know a few gals who absolutely love listening to me do this. Especially the innuendo part. You see, I’ve got fifty years experience cashing in the fact that women think about sex constantly, they just don’t think about it the same as you guys.
           And what the zonta is the Zonta club? (I looked it up, it's one of those women's empowerment clubs.)


Last Laugh

++++++++++++++++++++++++++
Return Home
++++++++++++++++++++++++++