Hard to Dispose, More Difficult to Discard (Government Doesn't Get It)

I saw a news story a few weeks ago that the City of Cincinnati has set very strict rules about what can be thrown in the garbage, and more importantly, how this garbage must be attractively displayed for pick-up by what must be very discerning Solid Waste Engineers.
Most people will probably try to comply.  But with significant fines for violations, the laws of unintended consequences means that alternate disposal methods are likely.

When I get in the mood to clean and purge, I really get in the mood to clean and purge.  Since moving into this house nearly five years ago, there was quite a bit of electronic paraphernalia that I had never used, and other sundries which were likely never going to be used again.  Having a few hours last weekend, I went through much of this stuff to do a cathartic purge.
I had several storage areas where old computer hardware and software was collected and it was time to get rid of it.  After deciding what to keep and what to get rid of, I had a few piles to throw away, recycle, and unknown.  In the unknown pile were things like my palm pilot - I was unsure if it still had my information on it.  A hammer solved that dilemma, and it went into the trash pile.
I similarly destroyed the dual hard drives in my old desktop computer.  One saw several death blows with a hammer, the other was disassembled and the magnetic platter removed and shattered.
While destroying the hard drives, my memory was brought back (pun intended) to some relatively inexpensive Sun Sparc stations that the federal government was selling about 18 years ago.  These were such a good deal, that the research lab I was working in at the time looked into them.  As government computers, they had to have the hard drives removed which was understandable.  However, the bureaucrats also required the volatile RAM to be removed.  I can only surmise some ignorant government idiot manager was worried that RAM may secretly retain information.  Unfortunately, Sparc-compatible RAM was very expensive and cost nearly as much as the computers were worth.  Our lab chose not to buy these very expensive, cheap computers.

In my piles of electronic stuff to get rid of were two CRT monitors.  These went along with my older desktop computer.  I really don't see value in a desktop computer anymore as I don't play computer games.  I used to be an avid gamer, but like a quantum switch, one day I couldn't take it anymore and stopped, nearly overnight.
I also had several computer games to get rid of.  Some of these go back to Windows 3.1 days (Sam n' Max Hit the Road).  There is minimal value of these on Ebay, and I'm not sure that a disadvantaged kid somewhere will have his life improved by a good copy of Outlaws (circa 1998), so these were discarded.  As so much of my life was spent playing Doom II, Quake, Quake II and Unreal, I kept these - likely to be discarded at some future purge...

Which brings me back to my CRT computer monitors and what is the "right thing" to do with them.  There is a very limited market for reuse as monitors.  The world is now flat.  The CRT market is probably on the same scale as reuse for artistic purposes.  While creative, I'm not sure how many monitor fish tanks the world really needs.
The best option for these monitors was to recycle them appropriately.  I went to the county's website to see what options are available.  There were several listed options for computer monitors, even specifically denoting CRT monitors.  Sadly, the website is, at best, very out of date.  After traipsing around with two heavy monitors, nobody would take them for recycling, despite my willingness to also accompany them by a nominal fee to dispose of them properly.  One place listed on the county website, which may have been where I dropped off an old TV a few years ago, was apparently not quite as conscientious as they claimed to be...

After trying to do "the right thing," for quite some time, I was frustrated.  I (thankfully) do not live under the authoritative regime of Cincinnati.  I called my local refuse company and they said they will happily take and landfill CRT monitors and televisions.  I won't know until I get my next solid waste disposal bill whether this option came with a charge for it, but the nice woman I talked to on the phone said that if there wasn't very much trash and they weren't that big, the monitors would be picked up for free.  I'm often surprised at the mountains of trash some people leave out on garbage day; at my house, I usually have one very nearly empty, skinny, plastic garbage can.  The cost for this seems ridiculous compared to my neighbor's piles, as the garbage company charges a set fee per week per house.  I guess being able to throw away mountains comes at a cost.

I really don't feel too good about landfilling two old, working computer monitors.  But my options were limited.  I could:
a)  put it in the basement where it will be harder and more expensive to throw away some time in the future.
b)  continue to drive these monitors all over the world trying to find somewhere to take them, while realizing they still may never be taken care of appropriately.
c)  legally dispose of them in the landfill thanks to the benevolence of the solid waste company that serves my rural township.

I suppose there is also a d) option.  I could, under the dark cover of night, throw them into an adhoc dump.  There is a ravine created by a small creek about two miles from where I live.  Jack-wad disgusting people dump all manner of stuff there.  About a year ago, the county government cleaned it all up and put a sign telling people not to recreate the pile of garbage (with apologies to Arlo Guthrie), but it is growing once again.
I never even thought of choosing this option, but this WILL BE  the result of Cincinnati's new Draconian garbage policy.  Nearly all people want to do the right thing, but every barrier put in front of the right thing will lower the relative energy needed for people to do the wrong thing.  When it is easier and cheaper to risk dumping that old ratty couch behind an abandoned building, it will happen.  It is sad that high and mighty city government, such as Cincinnati City Council, is too blind to see this irrefutable law of unintended consequences.

I remember when I got my first really big CRT computer monitor.  I had just built my computer system after researching and buying all individual components.  It was a dual boot system - OS/2 and Windows NT - I guess I was really a glutton for punishment then.  I spent countless hours staring at that monitor while I played Quake II and Unreal.  That first large monitor died many years ago and was recycled at a time when it was relatively easy to do so.
Now, I can't imagine ever buying another CRT screen.  My personal laptop is an old derided netbook, but it is small, robust and does everything I need.

The two monitors will likely live on under a mountain of garbage.  If there is any solace in this poor, but legal, option, it is only that they may be resurrected one day when we turn to mining landfills for the materials they contain in a future post-apocalypse.  And maybe that future will look just like Quake II.

MGB Rod Bearings and Toyota Spark Plugs (why doing vehicle service myself is preferable)

I normally do most of my own vehicle service.  There are some things I don't do because they require special tools or are frankly to much of a pain to do.
There were several recalls for my 2009 Toyota Tacoma that I hadn't bothered to do.  There was also an extended warranty on the truck's headlight lenses which the vehicle showed poster child issues of.

This warranty was going to expire in November, so it was a good time to get it done while I was thinking about it and before December rolls around and I kick myself for not getting it done.
I'm relatively busy at the moment, so I decided to do other maintenance at the same time:  spark plugs, coolant change, oil change, etc.  These are things I would normally do myself, but it just made sense to do them all at once (and despite the county's suggestion that coolant can be recycled, there is no one willing to take this, and I hate disposing it locally).

After the truck was done, I drove home and popped the hood open.  The three bolts that hold the air cleaner "connector" to the top of the engine were missing.  I don't mind using the Toyota dealer for service, but since there is a slight price premium when taking it there, there is an absolute expectation that work be done 100% correctly.  While the air connector bolts are probably not the three most critical bolts on the vehicle, not having them there is completely unacceptable and it makes me question the competence of all the work done.  It was late Saturday, too late to do anything about it, my frustration must wait until Monday.

The oil pressure on my 1972 MGB has slowly been dropping with general engine wear over the years.  The vehicle isn't in the danger area yet and there was  no rattling or rod knocking, etc.  There was around 25 pounds at idle and at speed oil pressure was 60 pounds on a good day, but sometimes 50 when really warm.
This is really a case where "a stitch in time saves nine" and rod bearings with the engine in the car is not too heinously difficult, if a bit messy.
I dropped the oil pan and was pleasantly happy with what I found.  In the bottom of the oil pan, there was a bit of gasket material (pretty common) but only a trace of sludgey goo.  When I was working as a mechanic at a British car shop, it wasn't uncommon to drop an oil pan and find an inch of thick grey sludge, suggesting much in the way of metal erosion and general contamination.
Pulling the rod caps revealed 0.010 over rod bearings with just a taste of copper showing on three of the four top bearings.  This is "good" engine wear and suggests no significant issues, especially since the rod journals looked nearly perfect.

The oil pump looked quite bad with clearances well in excess of what should be expected.  I almost suspect that on a previous rebuild/repair, the oil pump was not replaced or rebuilt.  I ordered most parts from Moss Motors, with an oil pump rebuild kit from Engel Imports.  I've read various reports on the quality of the new oil pumps, but replacing the guts almost always works satisfactorily.  I actually had a new oil pump of unknown origin which I decided not to use - due to the unknown origin part.
Since I think engine work must be done with scrupulously clean parts, I was scouring the oil pan when I noticed the pan was cracked.  This explains at least part of the reason why the car leaked so much oil; it is British, so some leaking just serves as rust proofing.  I'm actually surprised it wasn't leaking more with the crack in the pan.  Ebay to the rescue, I was able to find a good pan at a fair price, although it was mislabeled on Ebay, saying it was an 18G pan, which would have had 19 mounting bolts instead of the 18GB-on 18 bolts.

It has been a few years since I've been waist deep in an engine, so I was extra careful reassembling everything.  But everything went together well and it was only a short time until I refilled the engine with oil, pulled the spark plugs out and spun the engine over to get oil pressure prior to starting it.
Once oil pressure was achieved, I started the engine.  Happily, but with a twinge of worry, the oil pressure topped out near 100 pounds - a bit more than I would have wanted.  I let the car idle before driving it, and as the oil heated, the pressure dropped, but not by much.
I had all sorts of conspiracy theories as to why the oil pressure was so high, but Occam's razor suggests the simplest explanation is almost always right.  I had previously (maybe a year ago?) installed Moss' "uprated" oil pressure relief valve (329-235) to help push the lowering pressure up.  With fresh rod bearings and, more critically, a rebuilt oil pump, this might have been too much.
I removed the oil pressure relief valve and removed the shim.  Installing this valve, especially with the uprated spring, is a bitch with the engine in the car, but after a little cursing I got it back in.  The oil pressure is still a bit high, but now at an acceptable level.  I'll need to drive the car for a couple hundred miles first, but I may replace the oil pressure relief spring with the standard one in the future.

On the Monday after my Toyota Tacoma service, I got an automated email from the dealership service supervisor that he expects 100% satisfaction and to email him if I wasn't 100% satisfied.  I don't expect he really wants any emails, but I let him know, in very polite terms, I was displeased.  I never heard back from him.
I returned to the Toyota dealership after work and showed where the three bolts were missing.  The first reaction of the service writer, and it was the wrong reaction, was, "We weren't even anywhere near there."  When I pointed out the spark plugs were directly underneath the bolts, she just made a funny face and got the mechanic.  The mechanic looked at it, walked back to his bench and said something about rusty bolts but replaced the three prodigal fasteners.
I would have preferred if the service writer would have looked at the missing bolts, looked back at me and said, "We screwed up."  But I guess this is too hard to admit even a minor mistake.

I've got a few tens of miles on the MGB at this point.  I won't claim success yet - it is always possible a piece of dirt will end up being in the wrong place or a bearing will spin (or something), but several hours of time and a very messy oily garage floor gives the engine on the MGB a new lease on life.  I did notice that the oil cooler lines have some suspicious cracks in them, along with minor weeping of oil.  This is not due to the recent work, but more likely is exasperated by the higher oil pressure.  I suspect the oil lines are original to the car, and I'll be happily replacing the 40-something year old lines shortly, before an extended test drive is in order.  There is no reason to do this much work to an engine, only to have it undone by an exploding oil line.

One of the Rules of Life is "If you are very concerned with how something is going to be done, do it yourself."  Doing the engine work on the MGB was fun.  There is always a risk something inadvertent may go wrong.  Yet, I'm quite certain that everything was done well and there are not three bolts missing on the top of the MGB engine.

At least my shiny new Tacoma headlights are nice...

Not a Drop, Day 1826

I've thought a lot about whether I should even write this and, subsequently, a lot about this disjointed, non sequitur blog in general.  I've pondered what five years means, and what five years does not mean.  I've ruminated how unscripted events could have come together to reach 1826 days after day 1 with a different outcome and the possibility I could have been in a different place.
Perhaps, I should be thinking about the future.

"It is difficult to live in the present, ridiculous to live in the future, and impossible to live in the past." - Jim Bishop

I've been reading about various individuals' experiences in quitting drinking.  These weren't the writings in some of the excellent books on the subject like Neil Steinberg's Drunkard.  These are the average Jane and Joe writing about quitting drinking or cutting back.   
I'm not sure it is healthy to perpetually (or for years) write about the topic.  If it remains something constantly at the forefront, then the "new normal" won't ever have been achieved - and I believe strongly that a new normal is required.  Years writing about one subject also seems painfully trite.  To be fair, years writing about anything and everything might seem almost manic.  If nothing else, writing about anything and everything is a good way to remain contentedly anonymous.  Anonymity is highly underrated.
I'll separate the experience from quitting from what is written as a "how-to."  The change can be difficult, so no fault for attempts to help.  But, any one way to stop will likely only work for a very small amount of people.  Lay-person or even uninformed expert advice runs the risk of being unhelpful.  Some would almost be funny if they were simultaneously so dangerous.

The 2-year milestone seems almost delusionally real.  2012 in general was an odd year.  The old house had sold the previous fall;  the new house was still new enough that it was a natural euphoria, although that exhilaration was tempering.  The four worst months of my career had been survived - "efficiency experts" are the two most terrifying words in the corporate language.
But, reaching two years felt real, maybe not as normal as I wanted it to then, but real enough.

One writer talked about a milestone I hadn't ever previously thought about.  She wrote about approaching a point where more of her life was spent not drinking, than drinking.  I'm not really sure where that mark would be for me, since I'm not really sure where to start the time zero point.  After the first time I drank, it was a looooonnnnggggg time before I could even smell booze again without getting queezy.  That evocative saccharin scent of schnapps probably remains to this day.  Some rough estimations suggest I'm probably near the half-way point as well.  It was interesting to contemplate the half life as a milestone.  It was also a little depressing, so much of that time was spent in infancy through childhood.

I didn't think much about the 3-year time point.  Year 3 was a phantasmagoria, everyone takes a twisted contorted path to where they are, but where we are is just another stop in twisted contorted path to where we will be.
The lessons from year 3 demonstrated that even though more of life was under control, much of it remained unchained.

There were several people writing about the slip-ups as much as any successes, or about xx drinks as a positive (implying less than normal).  There is empathy in reading these; because there has to be.  A few of these alternate between brief periods of well-written prose discussing the repeated early efforts of quitting, with long periods without postings.  The saddest blogs are the ones that start out sincere and intense, but are very brief.  The end writes a final assumed chapter of failure.

Reaching 4 years was as much about the break I took from the online writing for other writing I wanted to do.  This points to the ongoing normalcy of not drinking.  Which leads to this 5-year posting; very possibly my last dedicated to the subject.
The last year has become normal in a way I previously would have had a hard time imagining.

One other writer calculates the time regained by not drinking.  The amount of time was pretty fantastic in his/her case (I couldn't tell from the blog which sex the author was).  In my own case, the number may be surprising only in the aggregate of five years.  I still squander much of that time in front of the TV, but enough of it is spent doing things that are fulfilling in a very real sense.

I've been putting fingers to keyboard, thoughts to digits, over the last few weeks as I knew this 5-year milestone was imminent.  In that same time, my Father died.  This was not unexpected as he was diagnosed with what almost assuredly was a terminal illness early in the year.  But it was unexpected as the end seemed to come very quickly; maybe it always does.  I can't image going through the emotional roller coaster of my Dad's passing with the mental distention of alcohol hanging over me.
Over the last several months, I got to know my dad in way that I hadn't previously.  I believe he would have said the same about me.  I don't know if we become omniscient in death.  But if we do, then I am slightly comforted in knowing that I am more honestly the person he knew.

There are still times I miss it a little bit but in the same way as I miss lots of things that are gone forever.
"Once you experience nostalgia, the thing you are nostalgic about is long dead." - Jen
Alcohol is the great equalizer for introverts in an extroverted world.  Where the last five years has brought me to is caring much less about that extroverted world.

Quitting drinking has enabled so many of the other positive changes over the past years that any negatives seem more and more like unnecessary footnotes:
I have never, ever - even once - woken up on a Saturday morning and wished I had a hangover!  Never...
I already touched on the time I've taken back by stopping, but the positive repercussions of this shouldn't be understated.  Time is one of the few fixed commodities in life.  I don't know if I'll die tomorrow or 60 years from now, but my time on the earth is absolutely fixed.  This has become unquestionably personal recently.
Much like time, the amount of money I would have spent on various consumable bottled liquids is quite real.  On the small scale this isn't much, but aggregated over five years (and more in the future) it amounts to real money.  Add in occasional questionable purchases from Amazon or Ebay after drinking and the number gets frighteningly larger.
I'm writing more, even self-published my book.  Yeah, it was excessively simple and one chapter is even about a guy who quits drinking.  But, this is just one example (of many) of something which probably never would have happened without the changes over the last five years.
Once I unlearned some of my bad habits, my time away from work is infinitely better.  No more do I look forward to vacation as a time to cope and unwind.  Yet, I probably need vacation more now than ever; I crave it because it is now my own time.  It doesn't belong to something else altogether.

I look forward to mornings now.  I like waking early and having time, sometimes just minutes and other times hours, quiet contemplative time to stand back and look at everything with some clarity.  Early morning with a book is better than late night with a glass.

Arbitary though it may be, five years does seem like a milestone.  As a reminder of all the changes over the last five years, I got a tattoo of a broken bottle.  Unlearning the habit of booze was only one slow, deliberate life change, but it was an enabling change.  The permanence of the tattoo has significance.  There is also significance in the placement on my upper arm where few others will ever see it (you'll never see me in a wife-beater and I'm not a lay-around-the-beach kind of person).

When Steve was giving me the tattoo, we were talking about why I made the design that I did and he asked me if I had quit drinking.  After responding positively, he paused and looked up at me, "How do you sleep at night?"
"Much better ... much better."

The bottles continue breaking.

A Return to Bicycling, Part 2

I wake up to a cool, humid morning.  The moon must be out since I can see outside quite well and there are no street lights anywhere near my house.  But, the low fog is so thick, I can't even see as far as the road.
After morning coffee and a bit of surfing and writing online, I head out on the bicycle for a morning ride.  Normally, I walk one of the dogs on Sunday mornings.  This morning just feels right for a bike ride, with almost no wind, and cool, dense air.
The fog has mostly burned off by the time I leave, but it is still chilly as I pedal south, away from home.  It is obviously going to be a hot and humid day, but the forecast isn't calling for immediate heat and the wind hasn't gone beyond a light breeze yet.  Traffic is negligible and the few Sunday-morning cars on the road are courteous, if at least not actively trying to kill me on the quiet roads.

I continue south for just under 10 miles.  My route gives a mix of hills and flat land before descending into the valley of a large stream that feeds into a river further on.  This turns to a long slow uphill section, heading in a more north-westerly direction, following the stream.  The cool wind is just starting and at my back now that I am headed in a more northerly direction.  The deep shadows in the low lying areas are exquisite.  Everything is so still that I can hear the water running under bridges that cover creeks and streams.  Briefly turning onto a state highway leads to one of my favorite hilly roads in the area.  It is steep, narrow, and twisty, but almost desolate and the road name seems to ring from American ghost folklore.

Back into the flat land, the wind is picking up and it is now getting hotter and more humid.  But, with wind at my back I continue on at a good clip.  The dangerous dogs must be in their cages as I pedal uneasily past the farm that is somewhat run down.  In what feels like too short of time I am nearly home, pedaling up the final big hill that many months ago seemed almost painful.

To say that this ride was near bike nirvana, would be an understatement.  The right combination of mood, weather, circumstance in the rural Midwest.

_____________________________________________________________________________

It wasn't on the ride described above, but on June 9, 2015, I passed 1000 bike miles since I bought my Trek DS 8.3 in October 2014.  To put this in perspective, that 51,000+ Calories burned is approximately the caloric equivalent of about 30 1.5-quart containers of ice cream.
I don't know if 1000 miles in eight months (at least three of those have limited riding due to weather) is a lot and I don't really care.  I have thoroughly enjoyed the time spent bike riding and the contrast it brings to dog walking.

My first rides on the bike were a significant contrast to the more quiet contemplative time spent dog walking.  As riding, especially the more physically demanding parts, became less mental effort, the contrast is somewhat less as I've been able to think less about what I'm doing (dealing with wind, hills, route) and more on just thinking ... or not.

There have been a few challenges to overcome.  I have had a couple times where I got a few miles away from home and realized that for one reason or another, I just wasn't in the right frame of mind for the physical exertion of pedaling.  When this has happened, I keep going for a while and just cut the ride shorter than originally planned.  Sometimes I realize I don't want to push myself with any of the larger hills, but luckily the area where I live has areas that are largely flat if that is what I decide I want to do.
There have been a few close encounters with dogs.  The worst was early in my biking time when I thought I could outrun a group of about five large dogs.  I ended up hitting one and have no idea how I didn't have a catastrophic crash.  I did rip some hair from the black beast with my front tire, and I learned a critical lesson; I do not believe the dog learned anything.  Since then, yelling and sometimes slowing (or even stopping) generally ends things quickly with the various dogs I come across.  Barring that, I can always decide to carry a pocket .380 - but I really don't see it coming to that.
Since I live and ride my bike in a rural area, I have not-infrequent run-ins with unpleasant or impatient drivers.  I do try to get over as much as I safely can to allow passing and will even motion drivers around when I know they can't see well.  Still, the jack-wad in the crappy red truck driving up behind me and blaring the horn has made a pretty clear statement about himself.
As an avid motorcyclist and burgeoning bicyclist, I was wondering on the risks of biking vs. motorcycling.  There are lots of pretty outlandish claims of bike vs. bike safety, but my own digging into the numbers shows that on a per-mile bases, motorcycling is probably about 2-4 times more dangerous than bicycling.   My seat of the pants experience doesn't quite agree with this as there seems to be more nervous moments on the pedal bike, but the relatively slow speed of the bike is where its safety lies vs. the much higher speed of the motorcycle - even with great protective equipment.
I do think that the rural area where I live and subsequently ride my bike is far more dangerous than the average suburban or even urban environment.  Most cars are traveling at a high rate of speed and the lack of other traffic breeds a little bit of driver complacency.  I haven't bought any lights or similar to increase conspicuousness, but I do try to position myself to be noticed and - yes - even use hand signals to communicate intentions.  And, actual close calls with cars have been quite rare.

When I'm bicycling, my pedal time seems to be most limited by comfort due to the seat.  Given the range of seats available and the large volume written about seats and comfort, this seems to be a problem with lots of imperfect solutions.  I can usually ride for about 1.5 hours before the seat starts telling me I'll be happier off of the bike.  My local bike shop offers a computer mapping service with various seats, and I'm thinking of investing in this.  It seems to be a more data-driven approach rather than simply trying various seats.

Even with the risks and the unresolved issue of seat comfort, I am still amazed at how much I enjoy bike riding.  If someone would have told me, even a year ago, how much I'd enjoy this, the response would have been between laughter and ridicule.  I like planning my routes and heading out after a day at work.  I enjoy the same, but for longer periods of time on the weekends.  My bike riding has taken me into and through areas and down roads around where I live that I have never been to before.  Before starting to bike, I would never have known that there are two covered bridges within 15 miles of my house, along with countless historic and interesting abandoned buildings.
Going downhill is still somewhat boring, and uphill is getting easier (usually).  The wind can be more punishing as it can be relentless and hurts more than it helps unless it is coming from approximately a 90-degree cone behind.

I'm still using Mapometer to plan my routes and still recording them on Google's My Tracks.  It is a bit of a battery hog, but does a good job of recording time, distance, vertical profile, etc.  I enjoy heading out on a ride knowing I'll cover lots of ground and maybe see interesting things along the way.  I like coming home afterwards, with sore legs and looking forward to a cool drink from the fridge. 

And, I think my bike riding has even made me appreciate the slower paced dog walks even more.

I'm not sure what the long-term plan is for bike riding.  I haven't done any dirt riding and I don't really plan on it right now.  My hybrid bike is definitely slower than a dedicated street bike.  On two occasions, riders on road bikes have passed me at a very improbable speed making me feel like a big fat kid on a plastic Big Wheel.  Still, I'm in this for the personal enjoyment and exercise, not really for speed.  Many of the rural roads I ride are paved in name only, or "Indiana-paved," so the suspension and disk brakes on the DS 8.3 are appreciated.

The near-perfect ride described at the beginning of this post resonated through that day.  Much like with my dog-walking, experiences like that will keep me returning to the pedals, anticipating through planning, enjoying the fresh air and exercise during the ride, and relishing both mental and physical health effects as a result.

Pedal-On!

The Persistence of (Negative) Memory

The fireflies over the last few days have been really dramatic.  Letting the dogs out for the final time in the evening gives a brief glimpse into that free light show.  I get up early so they are often just finishing their lighted dance in the morning.
Like lots of other kids, I used to love to catch fireflies and keep them in a jar.  Many of them died overnight; watching them, even briefly, is a little more gratifying.

My neighbors had a party of sorts a few nights ago.  As people were showing up, one person in a Jeep showed up and parked askew on their lawn.  My mind jumped to living in the previous house several years ago, 20 feet away from 18 and 21 year old brothers.

A few years after we bought our previous house, Les moved out to move into his mother's house after partially renovating it.  He sold our neighboring house to two guys; 18 and 21 year old brothers who had recently received a sizable inheritance from their grandparents.
There were brief delusions that the two were mature; that 18 and 21 year old brothers won't act like 18 and 21 year olds.  That idea was shattered on the first weekend when the older brother (Old-T) had a party.  It went into the wee hours of the morning and was raucous enough that people down the street asked me the next day whether it was as bad as it sounded.
Hoping it was a one-time thing was misguided.  The next day Young-T was overheard on the phone calling friends for a party.  As it turned out, it was one of the quietest parties Yong-T ever had and that weekend was one of the few parties Old-T had.

Being below the legal drinking age, Young-T and his friends congregated at the house most weekends and often through the week.  Nobody ever wins neighbor wars, so I tried to be tolerant, but it was extremely difficult.  When they first moved in, Young-T had a red car with lots of cheap ground effects and a monster sub-woofer.  There is not enough insulation in the world to separate the noise it made while people were hootin' and hollerin' out in the yard.  I laughed a little as the ground effects were torn off the car in steep section of the driveway - I could only hope the sub-woofer would suffer a similar fate.
To be fair, when I would politely remind them that we lived within a few tens of feet from them, Young-T would make an attempt to quiet things down.
"You guys, we have to be as quiet as a mouse," Young-T would run around saying.
But, with copious amounts of alcohol, only so much could be done before inebriation took over.  The base was turned up, the screaming restarted, and who knows what else was going on.  The only hope was that sleep could be achieved before the cacophony really got going.

At the time and in retrospect, living next to them was pretty awful.  Old-T had a girlfriend and was almost never there, leaving the much less mature Young-T to exceed in degeneration.  The parties continued nearly year round.  Looking out the window at 2:00 AM and seeing a group of guys peeing in my back yard was never fun.  The occasional fights, junk strewn about, driving through my yard, all constant annoyance.  I think the noise actually bothered the neighbors across the street more as they called the cops often and even tried to get the township officials involved.

In time, the red car with the cheap plastic ground effects gave way to a black jeep.  Even after Young-T turned 21, the parties at home continued.  I think by this time, the juvenile behavior affected finances to the point the drinking in bars with regularity might have been prohibitive.  Degeneracy is hard to keep up as a full-time occupation.

Some time later, the Jeep was destroyed; I can only assume it was in a drunken accident.  We heard third hand that Young-T had moved back in with his parents, who had subsequently moved to Colorado - I can only assume what a life shock that must have been.  Later, I found a letter that had blown into my yard detailing the remaining (significant) cost of the Jeep that must be reimbursed to the finance company.  It was easy not to feel too bad for him; there was almost some poetic justice there.

It is approaching five years now that we've moved from that house.  Yet, when the Jeep appeared on the neighbor's lawn a few nights ago, I shuddered a bit- the persistent memory of the two boys.  After nearly five years living in this house, I knew the shudder was misplaced, but the memory is persistent.  Not only is this new house separated by orders of magnitude more space, but I've never heard a late night peep from any of the neighbors.

Some time after Young-T moved out, Old-T spent considerable effort cleaning up the house and sold it (for surprising amount more money).  Becky was a very quiet neighbor, but that is another story altogether.  The house is currently on the market again, but this time for less than the cost of Young-T's Jeep; sometimes life has sad outcomes.

The fireflies were out again last night, hopefully creating new persistent memories.  After letting the dogs out, I stood by the fence and watched the winking light all over the yard.  The broken clouds created brief glimpses of stars that mimicked the fireflies and the air was unbelievably still and calm.  Even the beagles seemed to try to be quiet.
It is likely that with more time, reflection will make living next to 18 and 21 year old brothers seem better or worse than it really was.  All memories are grossly flawed.
With the help of quiet nights and winking fireflies, the persistence can be destroyed to be replaced by a new set of memories.

The Esther Lederer Rule; Why I Can't Mind Vacuuming

Yesterday was day one of a 3-day weekend brought on by the Memorial Day Holiday.  I had originally planned to get some maintenance parts for my Honda ATV as I've owned it now for about five years and haven't done much maintenance on it.  Granted, it only gets used for snow plowing a few times each winter, brush hogging a couple times in the summer, and the rare buzzing around the back acreage.  Still, it is probably over due for some fluid changes and a good once over.

That original plan was changed when the day woke up bright with cool temperatures and low humidity.  It was time to paint the trim on the house.

The "new" house really isn't so new anymore.  At 16ish years old, it is still younger than the median age of a house in the area and definitely younger than any other house I've ever lived in.  But, the trim on the house was beginning to weather and there were several places where it had already been repainted or spot repainted.  This was done by the former owners, often somewhat carelessly or with color matches that were only close.  Thankfully, with a brick exterior and good build, the trim that needs painting is just around a few doors, and a porch area.  The horror standing on the tall ladder, repainting gutters on the old, very tall Victorian house is over.
I had scraped off a chip of paint to match and after getting several color squares of paint at Ace Hardware, we chose "Adobe Hut" or N-C3/N35.  This was the overall closest match to the variations of paint and fading on the existing trim.

Determined to do it right, my SO and I scraped all the old loose paint.  I scrubbed all areas to be painted with trisodim phosphate dissolved in warm water.  Prep work makes all the difference, I learned on the aforementioned Victorian.  The TSP nearly dissolved my washing rag which demonstrates the power of that inorganic material as a potent cleaner.  While not as ubiquitous as it once was in household products which degrease, it is still easy to buy in the hardware stores.
Just the cleaning made much of the trim look significantly better.  Once painted, the difference was nearly transformative.  Some areas previously painted white were repainted Adobe Hut, which also made the house look uniformly better.

It is amazing how much better paint has gotten even in my lifetime.  I've had good luck with Ace brand paint over the years.  Ace's branded paint is now Clark+Kensington.  While the name change is a bit of a marketing gimmick, the paint plus primer in one was fantastic and, given that we were covering over similar colors in most spots, worked exceedingly well.  Painting in my first house too many years ago was an exercise in multiple coats and lots of hope.  That may also have something to do with shopping by price alone (any man's fool).
I kept saying, "Adobe Hut" as I painted, only because it sounds better than "N-C3" and also makes it seem like I live in New Mexico, not the Midwest.

My mom had an unnatural tendency to post Ann Landers' advice columns around the house.  I'm not sure why it was always Ann Landers, and not Dear Abby, or any of the lesser-known female advice columnists.  There also seemed to be a lot of Family Circus which in retrospect is about as funny as a wet rock.
Advice columns are entertainment and I can't help but wonder if the letters coming in are real, or if both the letters and responses are made up to create an unnatural interest to questions that are answerable in a few words.  I'm not quite sure why so many advice columns are written under pseudonyms either.  This further questions the reality of them.

Real or not, the somewhat simplistic advice is often heedable.
A friend was recently complaining about the way his wife vacuumed (in deference to advice columns and to protect my innocence, the names here are pseudonyms).  Jack said June's banging the vacuum cleaner into things caused the very old appliance to break.  June's response was that it is impossible to vacuum without running into things.  Jack showed her it wasn't - which I found exceedingly condescending.  This brought to mind one of the Ann Landers' columns which espoused the view that if you don't like the way your significant other does something, then one of the few appropriate responses is to do it yourself; if Jack didn't like the way June vacuumed, he should have stepped up to take responsibility for vacuuming the house.
He didn't.  Perhaps unrelated, but Jack tried to fix the vacuum, rather than replace.  While potentially environmentally conscious, repairing would leave them with the same old vacuum, which according to Jack can be broken by running into the sofa.

My Dad once bought a vacuum from a door-to-door salesman.  It was too long ago to know the specifics, but I recall that being one source (of many) of friction in the house.

I'm not sure if purchasing vacuums falls under the Ann Landers' rule or not?

Door-to-door salesman seem to be a relic of the past as I don't remember the last time someone has rang my doorbell to sell me something.  Or, perhaps the last remaining dodos stay in the more populated areas, rather than try to ply their wares to people who live in an Adobe Hut.

It was a nearly perfect day for painting.  It got warm but not hot, and the low humidity made the paint dry quickly.
The painting of the trim on the house continued for the better part of a day.  We finished by painting together on the final garage door surround, followed by a joint reevaluation of all the painted surfaces and a few spots of minor touch-up.
Thanks Esther Lederer for the advice, real or not.  Tomorrow, I may even vacuum.

10,000 Mile Review of the Triumph Trophy SE

I hit 10,000 miles on my blue Triumph Trophy SE a few days ago on the way home from work.  I've had the bike a little over a year at this point and it is time for a real-life review.

The Triumph replaced my ST1300 and while I sometimes miss the Honda, there is no question I like the Trophy more.  It is faster, lighter, more nimble and gets better fuel mileage (not really a critical need for me with motorcycles).  The power of the bike is more usable as well, as even in the upper reaches of the tachometer, the bike gets only very faintly buzzy compared to any other bike I have ridden and owned.  For most day-to-day riding, the 3-cylinder engine is surprisingly smooth and docile.

Since a review after 10,000 track miles would be different than a review after one 10,000-mile trip, I need a disclaimer on how the bike is used.  The bike is used for near-daily transportation in three seasons.  I commute on the bike most of the spring, summer and fall.  I do some recreational riding, but that type of riding is usually coupled with another reason; a quick trip to the store to buy some Easter Peeps candy might end up taking an hour.  I have done only three trips (defined as at least one overnight and hundreds of miles) on the bike.  Since the Goldwing is used for most of my longer distance and 2-up touring, the Trophy has only been in seven states.  I like to ride in the twisty stuff when possible, but since so much of my riding is commuting or interstate riding, the center portion of my tires has worn out much more than the edges.  On that note, tire wear is one of the things I am very happy with.  I had never previously had Pirelli tires on a bike before, but at just over 10,000 miles, I am due for both a front and rear tire at the same time.  I do suspect I'll retread with Angel GT's (maybe).

I have done very little to change the bike over the miles.  I added the hardware and electrics for the Garmin Zumo 660.  On my first trip with the bike, the floppy antenna wagging all over for hours on end was unbelievably maddening.  I tried a few shorty-stout antennas before settling on my home made "bullet" antenna.  And when I say "bullet," I do mean bullet!

The fact that I have done so little to change the bike is because I am really happy with it.  From the factory, it is well laid out and has just about everything I need in a commuter and medium-distance sport tourer.  I have done some really long days in the saddle so I have every reason to believe that it would perform admirably on the long distance as well.
My initial frustration with the cruise control rolling off with the throttle after the first trip has evaporated.  There wasn't any conscious change to make this happen, it was likely more due to become more familiar and comfortable with the bike.

There are a few things I don't like about the bike.  The audio system is a never ending series of glitches.  I rarely use the audio system since I don't have a blue-tooth helmet and the wind noise with the windscreen in the lowest position means it is hard to hear with a full-face helmet.  But, sometimes the audio system doesn't want to come on.  Often, it can't seem to find my USB memory stick with my MP3s on it.  Very often after starting, the warning "Low Voltage, Audio Off" displays for a few seconds after starting (this doesn't have any effect once the bike runs for a few seconds).  I've read these issues are all cured by an upgrade to the audio system firmware which I have yet to have the dealer do.  The Trophy comes equipped with Sirius Satellite radio and I never got this to work during the initial trial period.  I didn't try to hard since the cost model for Sirius is very moronically dumb.  Now Sirius continues to send me notifications and offers by snail mail.  For a while, they were calling me very, very often, which was very, very annoying.  Luckily, they do not have any way to electronically communicate with me.
There have been no other real issues with the bike, but there have been issues that I think happened once or twice, but I can't be sure.  For example, there was one time I glanced down and thought my speedometer was not working.  After checking the road again, followed by down at the speedometer, it was clearly working and I can't be sure whether it really wasn't working previously, or if my mind was playing tricks on me (this happened on a long tiring day on the bike in unfriendly weather).
Other examples of things that I think happened, but can't be sure include:  odd shifting of the transmission - especially when being less than positive with the left foot?  unusual battery draw for a short time when on the trickle charger?  I'm not sure any of these things actually happened, more just sensing something seemed unusual at the time.
Other annoyances:  Oil filter removal can be a bit of a trick, but once figured out it isn't too hard; I'm convinced that one can not have too many oil filter wrenches.  Getting the bike on the center stand is not as easy as with some bikes, but is by no means as difficult as I've seen some complain about.  There is a front "clunk" when stopping which I believe is actually the glovebox door lock mechanism - I barely even notice this anymore so I must have gotten used to it.  I still think the bike sounds a little bit tractory at idle.  At-speed full throttle, however, is a lyric growl!

While the above text details some minor issues and annoyances, my overall impression is that this has been one of the most enjoyable sport-tourer motorcycles I've ridden.  I love the linear power delivery and at-speed acceleration is predictable and quick.  I'm not sure if the moveable saddlebags are a gimmick or real, but the handling of the bike is phenomenal given its weight.  Braking performance is above average for a touring bike; I've only had the ABS come on once so it is very unintrusive.  I only know of traction control coming once as well on a very slippery tar road snake.
Fuel mileage has been good relative to other touring bikes I have owned, ranging from the low to mid 50s MPG.  Comfort level is far above average.  The Trophy is probably not quite as comfortable as the Goldwing, but I have done back-to-back 11-hour days and felt like I could have easily done more, or gotten back on the next day without issues.  I actually prefer the riding position of the Trophy over the more sedate Goldwing.
Aesthetics are subjective, but the bike looks fast when it is standing still.  The blue color looks great in the sun or the shade.  Since I had most of the fairing removed to install the GPS hardware, I was pleasantly surprised at how beefy the hardware was the holds the bike together.  Much of it is actually fastened with real screws and bolts instead of clips, that while functional and do work but do not inspire confidence.
It is also nice to ride a sport-touring bike that is not yet another BMW R1200RT...

So, with 10,000 miles on the clock, I'm more than happy with my Triumph Trophy SE.  Time and miles will tell if a tripling or a sextuplet of these miles will bring out any issues with the beast or if it will increase the enjoyment.  I strongly suspect the latter.