House – Page 5 – Ephemerality

November 20, 2020November 18, 2020

Ventilation

Of all the brilliant ideas the house’s former owner came up with, I recently discovered that one was to disconnect the attic fan. I have no idea why he did that, aside from being a cheap bastard that didn’t want to pay the costs of running a small electric motor.

Of course this led to some problems. Notably, our bathroom exhaust and kitchen stove hood fans vent to the attic. So we’re continually pumping smoke, oil, and steam up there. We gradually figured this out as subtle cues manifested, like water spots on the ceiling and the smoke detector at the other end of the house going off when cooking.

But despite clear rooftop evidence of a fan once existing, and our neighbor’s assurance that indeed it used to be there, my attic spelunking expedition did not reveal any such evidence. Nor did I know where to explore. Nor did I feel so inclined as to lengthen my crawling journey through insulation. Nay, an alternate solution was needed.

This is an old rotary blower (courtesy of the Village Elder), which I spliced into an extension cord and mounted to a sheet of plywood cut to fit the width between rafters. The idea being, that I would mount it against the existing passive heat vent, thereby turning it into a powered vent.

Some 2x4s and deck screws later, with a side helping of profanity, and the fan was affixed.

Of course, the outlet up there I had originally planned to plug it into had to be disconnected, also another dumbass idea of the prior owner no doubt, so I had to fix that, which also revealed other problems: spliced wires not properly contained in a junction box and missing grounding wires. Projects for another day. For now, I just wanted this working. Minimum Viable Product, as they call it in the Agile world.

Ignorance is bliss. Don’t go in your attic. It’ll just make you wonder how your house hasn’t burned down yet.

Finally, I employed a fancy little wireless switch, so I could control it without climbing up there. And I installed a weather sensor too, so I knew when it was getting too humid.

So how does it work? It works, but it’s definitely under-powered for the amount of air I’m asking it to move. I plan to install a second fan at the other end of the house eventually. But for now, at least the shower steam won’t rot the roof out. Small victories.

–Simon

October 16, 2020October 15, 2020

Kópsimodendroacrophobia

The fear of cutting wood at heights

Also: Phobia Quotient!

The neighbors rented a boom.

(A tangent here–I don’t think I’ve ever created a name for these neighbors, probably because they’re nice and reasonably normal. I’ve just called them by their first names: Brian and Kelly. Let’s change that now. I shall call them the Busybees. Because they’re always rather busy.)

Anyway, they hate trees. Well, to be fair, all Ohioans hate trees. Almost as much as they hate dressing appropriately for the weather. Liz is a prime example. She also hates trees. Here’s a typical conversation:

Statement: “This tree looks a little brown.”

Response: “Cut it down!”

Statement: “This branch looks dead.”

Response: “Cut it down!”

Statement: “This tree isn’t perfectly erect.”

Response: “‘Erect’…*teehee….Cut it down!”

But this year the trees in question really did look dead, and so I agreed after much insistence to cut them down. Liz, the Ohioan, had already been convinced.

Cut it down!

So after this roundabout lengthy preamble, I arrive at the point of my post: I don’t like heights. Never did. Figured those who do are idiots or showoffs. Of course, in my youthful egocentric stubbornness, I forced myself to endure them. Indoor rock climbing, rappelling, mountain hiking, amusement parks–been there; done that. And while being young grants a greater allowance for risk in the face of death, probably due to the amount of testosterone that was oozing out of my every orifice, approaching middle age has forced a more practical approach to death–like fearing things that cause it.

Consequently, my parasympathetic nervous system now strongly advises me that death should be avoided and doing certain things increases its risk potential.

But damned if I didn’t try. I went up there twice and cut branches, though in the end, Liz did the bulk of the work.

So this got me thinking. Is my phobia truly debilitating, or just a common healthy fear of death, albeit somewhat too strong? Internet time!

I didn’t vet this information at all, but it seems sound. Let’s see how I stack up:

Snakes? Some Indiana Jones shit right there. But they do have a creepy shape and are among the few large terrestrial animals that are venomous, so I get it. I do not have this fear. Pass.
Heights. Already discussed. Good to know this is #2. Fail.
Public Speaking. I don’t really think this is a phobia. It’s anxiety over social acceptance, not a life or death scenario, unless you consider the tribal fear of being banished which might lead to death. Exempted.
Spiders. See #2, though they’re smaller. I like spiders. Pass.
Claustrophobia. I don’t like being restrained, probably from childhood memories. My parents thought it was funny to sit on me for extended lengths of time. Sick Boomer humor. But small places don’t bother me. Pass.
Airplanes. Nah. I hate them more than fear them. Smell farts for hours, get felt up by security, then packed in like an Amazon warehouse. But not fear. Pass.
Mice? No. Pass.
Needles. I hate getting poked. Triggers a primal fear, though I don’t have a panic attack from it. Pass.
Crowds. Nah. Just an inconvenience. Pass.
Darkness? Only after watching Alien or Jurassic Park. Pass.
Blood? Only my own. Pass.
Dogs. I love dogs. Pass.
Clowns? I hate them, but it’s not fear. Sort of like cats. Shoot them for entertainment, but that’s it. Pass.

My total score: 1/12. But, these are weighted based on commonality, so I will use sketchy math to quantify this.

I’ll take the inverse of each item (only counting the “very afraid” numbers, because really, most of us are probably “a little afraid” of many of these, which does not a phobia make), multiplying by 100, and excluding #3, the total equals 169.9. This is the total max sissy quotient, which I’ll set as the baseline of 100% total sissy.

I posses #2, inverse of which is 4.2. Then to scale it with the baseline, that’ll be 4.2*100/169.9, which equals 2.5%. I am a 2.5% sissy.

But where is the median sissy? I really don’t know, because I don’t see these as cumulative probability, so let’s take a nice midpoint in the range: 5+((32-5)/2)=18.5. 1/18.5*100=5.4. 5.4*100/169.9=3.2% sissy. So I’m lower than baseline, according to my questionable math from unvetted sources.

I guess I’m pretty normal after all.

But you’re a total sissy if you fear blood.

–Simon

September 2, 2020August 28, 2020

Workshop

Tools–the modern man’s vector to creation and maintenance. The medium that separates us from the primitive. The…continually growing pile of crap that must be obtained for the sake of keeping other crap functional. And the collection never ends.

What started as a srewdriver/socket wrench set and a tape measure has, over a lifetime, morphed beyond the tangible. It is now a pursuit. A concept. A verb! To…instrumentumate! I’m sure that’ll catch on.

The result of which was a set of bins that had every tool haphazardly cast, necessitating the full scale emptying of said bins to find the appropriate tool for a given task, with the side effect of me not wanting to start a project, and to the impatience of Liz.

And to follow this chain of causality further, Liz bought me a tool organization system and a workbench!

Alas too late for the recent laminate installation, but new tasks will no doubt spring forth to demand my attention. And when that day comes, I will be able to easily find the necessary tools.

Or… further instrumentumating!

–Simon

August 6, 2020

Laminate (Part 4)

The laminate saga continues. To recap: carpet is disgusting and needs to be banished to the inferno!

We had actually installed new carpet in the master bedroom when we bought the house. It was an emergency solution. The existing carpet was beyond hope. It had been cleaned so much that it had unevenly bleached out. It was also the first glimpse we got of what happens to carpet padding after 50 years. It had to go, and we had Lowe’s contract the replacement with what we thought at the time would be a long-term solution: Stainmaster carpet.

But carpet is carpet. And dogs are dogs. And stink is stink. And unlimited trash pickup day was arriving. So here we went again.

That’s right, you can’t handle the responsibility of carpet

But this time, I bought an oscillating saw. In the past I used a coping saw, but that was laborious. Plus, it was an excuse to get a new power tool.

Look at that intricate set of perfect cuts!

I also added trim the the closet frames. And Liz painted a shade of green this time.

It does look nice and inviting. Two more rooms to go!

–Simon

July 1, 2020July 1, 2020

Time to Wine

I’ve never been a particularly big wine drinker. Beer and wine have their place, but I just prefer the harder stuff; for its taste, flexible application, and cost per drink. It’s all too easy to consume a bottle of $30 wine in one sitting (4, 6 fl oz glasses) when that cost could have provided 12, 2 oz cocktails. Then again, by sticking with $30 bottles, I’m probably missing out on the true wine-enthusiast’s experience.

But price notwithstanding, I still enjoy a glass with a heavy meal. And Liz enjoys her cheapo grandma wine. And damned if we didn’t lack a proper wine-storage solution (not that twist cap grandma wine would really benefit, but still). It was time for a wine rack.

And once again, Wayfair failed to disappoint.

So now, armed with some vague knowledge of vineyards, regions, types, and years; I shall collect! And drink! And pompously discuss the contents of my collection after inviting guests down to my cellar!

–Simon