I mentioned earlier we've gotten a bit of rain today as I struggle to get the camper ready before Michelle takes it to camp next week.
The 1.29 inches of rain that have fallen today have certainly given the roof a test, and as far as I can tell, no leaks.
When it rains like this, parts of the neighborhood flood. This video shows Matchpoint drive just a block or two south from where we live. We usually get floods on just one side of the road, but we've had enough rain today that the two puddles joined, overwhelmed the sidewalks and started creeping up the driveways of a few of the houses. It's kind of a mess.
So this might be part of why the camper is leaking.
This morning I spotted some moisture along a bead in the threaded bit at the top, which connects to the fresh water tank. I hoped that was the source of the leak I spotted last week, but, alas, it was not.
Still it looked corroded enough to be replaced, and when I got it out and realized it was galvanized steel and rather corroded on the inside, it was clear it was only a matter of time before this part failed, so I opted to replace it, but with brass fittings less prone to corrosion.
Next up is refilling the filler neck and air pipe, which I could see were leaking when I filled the tank again. That, and the fact that at a certain water level in the tank the leaks stopped lead me to believe I've finally got the problem identified. Ran out of light today to get things done today because I had to go to Home Depot twice for parts because the first time I eyeballed it and got it wrong. That was dumb, but I've got the proper parts now.
Hoping tomorrow brings better news and a dry camper. Later this year I'll have to do something about the drain cock, as I think it's bunged up because it wants to drain into the camper now. That's not good.
Here's Stan getting his pencil sharpened, in the storyline where Trump buys the strip and fires everyone and we follow Steve Dallas trying to find a new comic strip job.
Help me take artificial intelligence more seriously, because as far as I'm concerned, the hallucinations are continuing.
For reasons, today I needed to verify my memory that the phrase "Let me sharpen your pencil, Stan," appeared in a Bloom County comic strip.
I know Berke Breathed, like many artists, is strict about keeping his comics off the Internet, but I knew there had to be somebody out there at least discussing this particular strip, because this is the Internet and everyone is there talking about everything, as Clay Shirky has led me to believe.
Of course the first thing that pops up on any search nowadays is an AI summary. This one I found to be comical.
Google's AI, shown below, denies any connection between the phrase and Bloom County, but pastes the comic use of the phrase on Garry Trudeau's Doonesbury, particularly on his character Joanie Caucus.
So wrong.
Also included, textual proof I had not mandela effected myself and that the phrase was indeed used in Bloom County.
But I thought I'd give AI the benefit of the doubt. I don't know my Doonesbury as well as my Bloom County. But searching for the link brought up bupkis, and, interestingly, denials from the same AI that the phrase has any connection to Doonesbury at all.
If I am in fact wrong and the phrase is used in the comic, I stand corrected. But this is clear proof to me that AI as far as searches go is still pretty much making things up as it goes along.
Including, maybe, character names. While I know of Joanie Caucus, internet searches for a Doonesbury character called Stan Mills come up empty.
This is definitely a low-stakes search. But how much hallucination is going on in searches with more substance?
Clearly, everything AI says ought to be taken with skepticism. And trying to verify information just leads you into another rabbit hole.
As I finish reading Peter Stark’s “Astoria: John Jacob Astor and Thomas Jefferson’s Lost Pacific Empire,” I’m impressed to make a few comparisons to our day.
Astor was, of course, a businessman. A businessman with an expansive vision, which pushed his enterprise, with some support from the United States government, into untractable wilds in search of wealth for one and a cultural and political foothold in rich, disputed territory for another.
It’s difficult not to compare him to Elon Musk who, with his dabblings and vision (I’m not going to discuss the “rightness” of either his or Astor’s vision here) embarks on similar enterprises today.
As Astor looked to the Pacific Ocean for wealth, Musk looks to Mars – lately, the Moon – with similar ambitions. In both cases, there appears to be tacit approval by government, but, as Astor found out, not a lot of material support behind that approval. Maybe Musk is finding differently, at least in government contracts. In Astor’s time, the fledgling United States government, led by Thomas Jefferson at the onset of Astor’s adventure, then by a more cautious James Madison at the end, was too young and immature to do much of anything but look at the maps and dream.
Today’s government, with vastly greater resources, seems limited not by resource, but by resolve and is distracted by a thousand banalities to the point even life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness seems more limited in scope than in the past.
There was, of course, great risk in establishing “empire” on the Pacific Coast. Lewis and Clark had only completed their initial journey from the East to Fort Clatsop and back a few years prior, and left enough acrimony among those along the way that those who followed had to take even greater risks to make the same accomplishments.
At the end, Astor managed only to plant a seed – his fort, successfully established at Astoria, sold under duress to the British during the War of 1812. But by mid-century, Americans were on a steady flow to Oregon overland, and political disputes were settled in 1846 with England ceding the southern portion of Oregon Country to the United States.
Whether Musk is planting any Moon- or Mars-bound seeds is open to conjecture and likely years in the offing, if at all, as government-supported exploration of anything beyond Earth orbit by manned spaceflight has evaporated since the 1970s. (Yes, Artemis did a Moon flyby in 2026 with a manned landing mission planned afterward, but whether anything will come of those efforts is also lost to the vaporous attention of government and man, Musk included, as his own SpaceX is now boasted as 93% an artificial intelligence company.
As a kid, I fully expected the option to work and live on the Moon as an adult. As an adult now, I can see that’s not likely to happen to the common schlub within my lifetime, nor likely within the lifetime of my own children, as even the greatest adventurers and entrepreneurs and governments seem bent on recreating the same stupid mistakes made in the past rather than looking united toward a better future.
Dreams of utopia from the 1950s, it seems, are as far away now as they were then. And the little government and little businessmen with little visions aren’t likely to carry us there anytime soon.
Spent a good portion of my day crawling around in the camper, checking and replacing various plumbing-related parts, trying to identify the part that was leaking -- a new problem the camper faces.
We knew we had some problems to tackle.
We needed a new kitchen faucet:
And a new bathroom faucet:
But as I filled the holding tank before replacing things so I could indeed verify that things were dripping, I discovered a new and exciting leak that was jut dripping water out the back corner of the camper.
So I did the following:
1. Checked the connections on the water pump (I have to remove it every winter to keep it from freezing; we lost two pumps that way.
2. Checked the plumbing lines.
3. Checked the filler port.
I removed the filler port, cleaned things out, then reattached everything, this time putting the port on perpendicular to the camper wall. I don't remember installing the other one with a slant, but there it was.
Then I replaced both faucets, because I knew they were dripping because Michelle told me they were last year and why would she lie about that?
I also -- horrors -- disconnected the toilet so I could check on the valve to make sure it wasn't broken. It wasn't. But that meant I had to reinstall the toilet, and that meant rolling around on the floor in a little flood water until I could get the two stupid bolts tightened. However, it went a lot faster this time because I knew what to expect and was able to use the noisy cricket adjustable wrench Michelle got me the last time we had to wrestle with the toilet.
Honestly, this is how it feels for me, not a small man, to work in this camper:
My friends, per usual, are having a fun time with my adventures on social media, bless them.
Learned today that Mark Fitzpatrick, the non apologetic Mormon hater who lost the Republican primary for governor this week, got fewer votes than fellow right-wing nutjob Janice McGeachin, and Idaho Falls resident, in the same race in 2022.
I remember back in 2022 being pretty happy that she lost her home county, and I'm just as happy now to see it happen to the current right-wing nut job.
He supports a candidate for governor - who also lost - who has, shall we say, interesting things to say about members of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, and then can't figure out why his own support in the Bear Lake area - home to many members of the Church - dropped from the last election.
From Peter Stark's "Astoria: John Jacob Astor and Thomas Jefferson's Lost Pacific Empire:"
"Captain Thorn had trained in a military and naval tradition in which lives were sacrificed in the name of a mission for the good of the country. He remained an officer in the U.S. Navy, on leave with permission to pursue Astor's hugely ambitious enterprise in the Pacific. He burned with an unrelenting determination and patriotism to carry out his mission per his orders from Astor -- in this case, to cross the Columbia Bar as expeditiously as possible and land the first American colony on the West Coast. But Astor's great expedition served at least as much a commercial as a nationalistic purpose. Captain Thorn appears not to have reflected on this: What cost in human lives was a commercial mission worth? Or if he did reflect on this weighty issue, he kept it to himself. He may have felt unsure of himself in this, his first command, but sealed it off with his outward toughness. The more perceptive passengers might have sometimes caught a hint of a softer Thorn. Franchere reported that when those aboard the Tonquin realized that Fox's whaleboat was lost, Captain Thorn looked as distressed as anyone. Was this for the loss of human life, or the setback it represented to his mission?"
Like Starks, I can only speculate.
But as we look at the world of employment, as much as business decries the lack of loyalty in workers, there's a more than sufficient lack of loyalty among employers to make their laments ironic.
We've seen our property taxes double since we moved to Ammon in the early 2010s. Voting yes on a larger levy for School District 93 means another increase.
I get that the schools need the money. Thing is, everybody needs the money. I know we could use it. I'd love to pay off that mortgage that much sooner. Build a shed or a shop. Repair the porch roof that's sagging. So many other things.
If we had a state legislature that was doing something to help schools instead of frittering tax money on vouchers and tax cuts and only restoring some of the cut funds after the cuts literally killed four people, maybe I'd feel differently.
That's a big if, I know. So I'll probably vote for this levy. Just like voting for legislators that actually care about education, it's part of the bargain. But I'm tired, boss.
2013, we paid $976 in property taxes. Same year, about $740 in state income taxes on income of about $75,000.
Last year, $2018. This levy vote will put that up another $150 a year. Same year, $4,200 in state income taxes on income of about $110,000.
Certain people around here don't know how hard it is for me to sit on news of the magnitude I'm sitting on and not rupture something
Not that I know *all* the news, just that news has arrived and its reveal is imminent but it's not my place to announce the news so here I sit, looking right girly in Rick's dress.
So here's the deal: This book is indeed a soppy romance story featuring, at the end, an English Ignatius J. Reilly who gets locked in the dungeon of an ancient castle tower until he writes the second book of his genius career and the family is set back on kilter, or at least as much on kilter as the family could be.
I liked it. It felt a little ponderous and wandering, but at least it had a plot, unlike John Crowley's "Little, Big," to which I compared the book earlier this year.
If you want eccentric rural with a lot more humor, pick Stella Gibbons' "Cold Comfort Farm," but this book had a slow charm of its own, and built nicely toward the end when I suppose we should be cheering that someone connects with someone else. And they do, in ways you expect because that's how the expectations were set up waaaaaay at the beginning.
Dodie Smith does keep the story going, however, something Crowley didn't seem bothered to do. But it could have used a lot more of Gibbons' humor.
As I sometimes to at church as and after we sing hymns in Sacrament Meeting, I looked up the history of the lyricist or composer of one of the songs we sang.
We sang for Sacrament "In Humility, Our Savior," which has long been one of my favorite hymns, and is in fact one I became most familiar with as I served a mission in France, as the hymn is one the saints there love. In fact, the three songs we sang today were very popular in France.
Anyway, this lady is Mabel Jones Gabbott, born in Malad, Idaho, as part of a colony of Welsh Mormons who settled the area. She grew to have a love of words, fed in part by Welsh traditions of singing and storytelling. More of her story here.
She spent a life with words, crafting hymns, poems, and editing many works for various church magazines. In her life is proof that one doesn't have to have widespread recognition to contribute to the greater good.
One of her most recognized works is the poem "Eve and I," which she wrote as she realized there was little told from Eve's point of view in the creation story. It's a lovely poem:
Matchpoint Drive residents will be glad to know we declampetted our front porch. The broken-down toilets are finally gone.
Neighbors have indeed chimed in:
Isaac, looking for things to do as he waits for the mission call, split up a ton of the wood we have left in the front yard from the pine tree, probably almost half of what's left, so the yard is looking excessively bare tonight.
CLOCK. The clock, which we discovered today is technically a "grandmother clock," is fixed. Brad from The Clock Doc down in Utah happened to be planning a series of service calls in our area and was able to come today.
It turns out that the little fork that held the pendulum attachment to the clock was indeed bent a little bit, but he had the experience to know how to bend it back into shape and to get the clock working again. While he was there he gave it a tune-up and a good cleaning. We didn't necessarily have the $350 to spend on it, but it made sense to have the work done while he was here and the clock was in pieces anyway.
I didn't take any pictures while the clock was being worked on, which now seems like a mistake.
I'm glad it's working again. I love hearing that clock chime.
Here is a picture of the clock, though.
And his business card, if you're interested.
HACKERS. The Hack on Canvas appears to be over, but as usual we don't really get to hear what actually happened. I don't imagine anyone paid the ransom that was being asked for - at least I hope they didn't.
It's everywhere on Facebook, and, irony of ironies, being used copiously by people fighting against AI data centers.
Of course they're *not* fighting against AI data centers. They're posting ragebait to engage the masses and push whatever useless metric they're trying to push so they can farm likes and gather followers and virality and then sell whatever they have to the highest bidder.
Of course, some feign sincerity. But the irony of using AI to fight against AI eludes them.
So my rule now: I don't engage. I take screenshots, then I block.
It's like Whac-a-Mole, though. Block one and three vie for the space you just opened on your feed.
Doesn't matter. Will keep blocking until I wear our my mouse and keyboard.
This one's even more egregious to me, a space nerd. Don't mess with space to get likes, my friend.
This is why we're urged to study and study and study our scriptures and consider how we should apply them in our lives.
Then when the question of "where do I draw the line on forgiveness" arises, we already know the answer and how we should respond
Nothing in this passage, or the entire section of Doctrine and Covenants 64 says it's going to be easy, but often things the Lord requires are hard to do.
This, from Matthew 18, applies as well, of course:
[Dad takes the dogs outside, because one is barking pathetically at the back door to be let out and the other one, a geriatric, has yet to produce an adequate poop for the day. So Dad is not merely sitting on the back steps doom scrolling, he decides to finish cleaning out the dead leaves and crabgrass from around the air conditioning unit.]
Emergency backup dog (the barker}: [Sniffs around for ten or so minutes, maybe takes care of business and generally struts around like she owns the back yard, as she always does.]
The geriatric, as yet undepooped dog: [Expresses deep interest in what Dad is doing and noses around in the dead leaves and crabgrass and generally makes a nuisance of herself as she and Dad go for the same pile of dead leaves handful after handful. After five minutes, she locks eyes with Dad, produces one of the stinkiest poops known to mankind about a yard from where he is working, then wanders off to leave Dad inhaling the deadly fumes as in haste he finishes up the last of the leaf-and-grass cleanup and staggers inside to get some fresher air.]
The idea, of course, is a good one, at least as long as people remember to put the plates back in the right place.
What I object to is the AI presentation of this scenario.
First of all, it's pretty odd to have a blank plate to cover a box in a wall. Sure, I've got a few in my house, but a junction like this isn't likely to be set up this way -- there should be a switch. Unless this was the result of a remodel, but even then, why not a switch if you're adding new wiring?
But on to the AI.
Look at the baseboard on the floor. Then look at the open box in the wall.
The perspective does not match. Behold:
It's clear the photo with the box was taken straight on, or near enough straight on. The lines for the box don't match the perspective line for the baseboard, which is probably a reason the plate covers the bottom of the box, which is closer to the baseboard.
Also, that hole in the wall is HUGE compared to other elements in the photo. A plate ain't gonna cover that.
I guess if you're hungry for content and engagement, AI is a good way to get people to comment on the slop, and then argue about it. Either way, it's sloppy.
No, I have not finished the bathroom. I may never finish the bathroom. I have lost so much steam on this remodel it's not even funny.
But when I got a call from my wife as she was driving up to a day of training that doing something about the leaking valve in the shower upstairs, I decided, okay, I can at least replace a valve.
Ended up replacing two.
The one upstairs went really smoothly. No hitches at all. But I'd used the valve I had bought months ago to replace the leaky one in the basement.
So I went to a local hardware store to get a new valve.
I tried to install it, but should have known it was going to be trouble when one of the gaskets fell off as I was holding the valve. It put it back in place, greased it up and tried to get it in place, but it jammed. So I pushed and pushed but the stupid thing wouldn't go in all the way.
Getting it out was even worse, and by the time I did I'd torn both gaskets in half.
So I tossed the valve, went to the big box store, bought another valve had had it installed in about five minutes after I got home. Word to the wise: The big box store has the better valves, clearly.
While I had the water turned off, I thought I'd go for a trifecta and replace the faucet in the main floor bathroom, but that proved beyond my patience today.
A real plumber put in hard lines for this one. One of the valves is frozen open. And the honyock used some kind of metal clamps to hold the faucet to the sink and they're rusted and wouldn't budge. So I'll take two out of three . . .
I'm no lawyer, but personally I don't think this'll stick. At best, the meaning of "86" is ambiguous enough they're going to have a really hard time proving any evil intent.
I'd sure like to be able to read the date on this newspaper, but it's just too blurry.
The cartoon itself is from 1943, so some wishful thinking here.
Indy and Harry
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We're heavily into many things at our house, as is the case with many
houses. So here are the fruits of many hours spent with Harry Potter and
Indiana Jone...
Here at the End of All Things
-
And another book blog is complete.
Oh, Louis Untermeyer includes a final collection of little bits -- several
pages of insults -- but they're nothing I hav...
Here at the End of All Things
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I’ve pondered this entry for a while now. Thought about recapping my
favorite Cokesbury Party Blog moments. Holding a contest to see which book
to roast he...
J. Golden Kimball, the Story of A Unique Personality, by Claude Richards. 398 pages.
Josseph Smith Rough Stone Rolling, by Richard Lyman Bushman. 740 pages.
Town, The, by Shaun Prescott. 247 pages.
Read in 2026
Al Capone does my Homework, by Gennifer Choldenko. 214 pages.
Astoria: John Jacob Astor and Thomas Jefferson's Lost Pacific Empire. 366 pages.
Bear that Wasn't, The; by Frank Tashlin. 64 pages.
Christmas Box Miracle, The; by Richard Paul Evans. 261 pages.
Complete Ripping Yarns, The; by Michael Palin and Terry Jones. 278 pages.
Cowboy and His Elephant, The; by Malcolm MacPherson.240 pages.
Dirks Escape, The; by C. Brandon Rimmer. 191 pages.
Dog for All Seasons, A; by Patti Sherlock. 244 pages.
Dragonhaven, by Robin McKinley. 342 pages.
I Capture the Castle, by Dodie Smith. 343 pages.
Kaboom Boys, The; by Elaine Hume Peake and Don Keith. 345 pages.
Last Battle, The; by Cornelius Ryan. 571 pages.
Malcolm at Midnight, by W. H. Beck, pictures by Brian Lies. 267 pages.
Mogo's Flute, by Hilda van Stockum. 87 pages.
One Corpse Too Many, by Ellis Peters. 285 pages.
Portable Door, The; by Tom Holt. 404 pages.
Possum that Didn't, The; by Frank Tashlin. 64 pages.
Rare Benedictine, A; by Ellis Peters. 150 pages.
Relativity: The Special and General Theory, by Albert Einstein. 164 pages
Social Contract, The; by Jean-Jacques Rousseau. 188 pages.
Tales of the Peculiar, by Ransom Riggs. 190 pages.
There's Treasure Everywhere, by Bill Watterson. 173 pages.
Ze Page Total: 5,432
The Best Part
One Corpse Too Many, by Ellis Peters
Cadfael was left to do everything alone, but he had in his time laboured under far hotter suns than this, and was doggedly determined not to let his domain run wild, whether the outside world fell into chaos or no.
