Another Matchpoint Drive Playlet

[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.]

In M.C. Escher's House, Maybe

Potted this on the Facebooks this morning:

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.

A Plumbing Day

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 . . . 

Now I want to go to bed. I'm pooped.

#IndictBugsBunny

Stolen from Facebook.

In regards to this.

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.

A Little Something for the Clock-Minded Technical Writers

Over the weekend, my wife was winding our grandfather clock when the pendulum came out of the clock in her hands.

Being the intrepid souls that we are, we took the cowl off the top of the clock to take a gander at the innards to see what we could do to remedy the situation.

We quickly determined that a miniscule suspension spring had broken -- it lasted just shy of 50 years, pretty good for a tiny assemblage of plastic and metal.

Luckily, we had a spare spring included with the clock paperwork, so after a bit of trial and error and the use of a few pairs of tweezers, we got the new spring installed. No help to the instructions. We knew where the spring went because we could see a broken bit still in place.

Here's the envelope the spring came in. Good luck with the instructions. Note: the illustration does not match our clock.

But alas, when we connected the pendulum, we could see that the pendulum hanger and rod were now interfering with the chime bars that give grandfather clocks their charm.

I thought, "Well, I'll look online to see if I can find a video to help us out." That after a few glances at the paperwork included with the clock revealed that it was pretty hopeless to look at it for any help.

It's text-heavy. The illustrations are line drawings, a bit smudged, and upon further examination, were for clocks and equipment that didn't match our clock's innards.

Another example, on pendulum hanging. It not only doesn't match our clock, but it doesn't match the illustration on the spring envelope.

So the typical one-size-fits-all documentation we lament today was clearly alive and well in the 1970s.

Alas, an appeal to the Internet for help brings up a hodge-podge of similar material, none of it all that helpful because it doesn't quite apply to our situation.

As a technical writer, I say that stinks.

First, I guess clock repair people are guarding their secrets. It's a rare situation where you don't find some helpful video on YouTube showing you how to fix the exact problem you're facing with ancient technology, or new stuff for that matter.

Second, a lot of what I found is still in that "one size fits all" mold that we all know isn't really all that helpful when at the foundation of it all, the parts they're showing and the methods they're using don't translate to the real world.

So as I struggle with my own writing challenges, I'm given a fresh reminder that we need to be careful to write to the exact situation and not leave people frustrated and guessing and hoping the Utah "Clock Doc" hasn't made one of his semiannual runs to Idaho yet. We'll see.

Clock Repairpeople We Are Not

So, Michelle was winding our grandfather clock over the weekend and the itty-bitty suspension spring broke, dropping the pendulum to the bottom of the clock.

Being the intrepid souls we are, we took the clock apart to see if we could fix things. Luckily, we had a spare suspension spring in with the clock paperwork, and we did manage to get that installed after both of us threatened to utter some swear words.

But clocks being clocks, there's more to it than that.

Right now, we're struggling to figure out how to get the pendulum hung from the spring without it interfering with the chime bars, which are kind of essential to a grandfather clock's charm.

Not being total idiots, we've stopped tinkering and are trying to locate a clock repair person to help us go the rest of the way.

And we'll have to buy some more suspension springs, though the one in the clock did last nearly 50 years.

Another Update

Isaac got tremendous news when he went into the hospital on Monday: The burn on his abdomen is healing much better than expected, so the second skin graft won't be needed.

He's also bandage-free on his arm.

His mission papers are submitted. And he's really itching to go to the temple.

Things are looking up.

Petulance, thy Name is Trump

President Trump and members of his cabinet were vaguely shot at yesterday.

I don't condone violence of any sort, let it be clear.

I don't condone hypocritical petulance, either.

Trump has said this wouldn't have happened if he'd had his White House ballroom.

School shootings, workplace shootings, and all the like wouldn't have happened had they had ballrooms either, per that logic.

But since Sen. Lindsey Graham sees fit to introduce legislation to let President Petulant get tax money to pay for his ballroom but nobody seems willing to lift a finger to do to much of anything to lessen the impact of school and workplace shootings, I say fie to it all.

We have a very hypocritical government. They get free health care, pensions -- and in some instances, jobs -- for life. And we pay for it all. But that kind of thing just isn't done for the masses. We have wars to fight, Trump says. So that means we can't pay for health care, or child care, or Social Security, or any of the other social safety net programs that actually show benefits outside the pocketbooks of arms contractors.

The sooner we elect someone besides this twink and his enablers, the better.

Ah, Meta . . .

 

Facebook has just "suggested for [me]" one of my own posts from earlier today and wants to know whether I'm interested in it.

[Clicks "not interested" just to mess with The Man.]

Here Come the Judge (Puts Down the Fudge)

Honorable Judge B. Lynn Winmill

United States District Court

550 W. Fort Street

Boise, ID 83724

My name is Brian Davidson. I am Randy Davidson’s brother, just a few years older than him. I live in Ammon, Idaho, and just marked by 20th year working as a technical writer with the Idaho Cleanup Project, currently with the Idaho Cleanup Project. I also teach an online English course at Brigham Young University-Idaho.

I’m writing this letter to express my love and support for Randy. He was my best friend growing up. I recall many adventures on our bicycles, exploring our neighborhood, the vacant lot in the industrial park near the home where we grew up, and through our involvement with the Boy Scouts of America and the Young Mens’ program in The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.

Though he is younger than I am, I look up to him a lot. He reminds me a lot of our Dad: Studious, quiet, intelligent, and hard-working. I never felt a sense of competition with him; we just worked through things together. When he wanted to go with his other friends, I understood and mostly held back – he’s much more outgoing and courageous than I am.

We have common interests, from reading about World War II – Dad was a civilian in the Netherlands during the war – LEGOs, books, games, and other interests. When Randy comes home, we could certainly pick up on those pursuits again, and offer each other mutual support as we grapple with the challenges that life throws our way.

Randy is a humble person who knows and owns the mistakes he’s made. He’s worked hard to combat the addiction and demons that beset him. And he, like Dad, knuckled down at his jobs, even when he was treated with derision and hostility by his co-workers and supervisors because of his record. This world can be cruel to people who’ve made mistakes like Randy has, but he never ran from them. He never hid them. He owned his past and did the best he could do to not let it control the present. Though he has longed to reconned with his children, he respects their wishes to remain distant, though it hurts.

I appreciate the closeness he grew to have with our sister Maaike when he returned home. She was better positioned to be the best help for him, but please know he has an extensive and willing help and social network when he does come home. We have a large family and though at times we’re not exactly close, we do band together particularly when a family member is suffering. We recognize the godly requirement to love all and to work to remove the beams in our eyes rather than rail against the motes in the eyes of others.

My fondest memories of Randy came when my wife and I bought a house in the early 2000s and discovered the sprinkler system it came with was nonfunctional. He had experience in working on sprinklers, so came over and worked with me to see what we could do with the system we had. We dug a few trenches, found many broken components, and discovered a few functioning sprinkler heads, but nothing in the way that would water our lawn efficiently. I remember him, a week into the project, saying something along the lines of “We can either keep digging and following the lines and fixing the problems we discover along the way, or we can start fresh with a new system.” In a way that’s how he’s led his life since his troubles arrived, recognizing that some aspects were beyond repair and opting to start again. His resilience in the face of his own demons is awe inspiring.

When I think of my family, but of Randy particularly, I’m reminded of the song by The Hollies:

The road is long

With many a winding turn

That leads us to who knows where

Who knows where

But I'm strong

Strong enough to carry him

He ain't heavy, he's my brother

So on we go

His welfare is of my concern

No burden is he to bear

We'll get there

For I know

He would not encumber me

He ain't heavy, he's my brother.

Sincerely,

Brian Davidson