Bots And Bots

     Blog traffic is way up -- and it's all machines.  I'm not here to feed machines.  So I took the weekend off.

     Need to figure out a way to bollix 'em.

It Is Positively Predictable

      You can count on it: if the plunger was left in the basement, within two months, the toilet will do a "stealth stoppage:" water level just a tick higher than normal, drain blocked.  Flip the lever and you've got an hour of cleanup.

     If the plunger was deloused and left in a small bucket in the washroom?  Rarely have a stop-up.

     The tie-breaker is when there's over an inch of water in the basement -- and the plunger is down there. too, on the far side of the floor drain.

     I own three plungers -- one small and clean for sinks, a big one for the basement floor drain, and a fancy big one for the loo, but the fancy one tends to get migrated to the basement for a spray-down with bleach cleaner, and then why not just leave the ugly thing there?  What harm will come of it?

     And thus the cycle continues.  If I'd just leave the plunger in the smallest room, it wouldn't need to be used.

General Advice

      Sometimes -- not every time, but sometimes -- the reason your life is a shitstorm is because everywhere you go, you sling shit.

Aging

      I never expected nose hair.

More Annoying Stuff

      Woke up to a mysterious crash from the basement.  After due consideration, Tam (having been up and decent for hours) investigated.

      There's an animal in the basement.  We don't know what kind.  Coffee, toast, a shower and proper clothing first.

      Where's my pith helmet?

      I'm starting to dislike this movie.

I Thought This Roller-Coaster Ride Was Ending

     Here we are again, headed uphill with the ratchet going tick, tick, tick....  Indiana is back under stronger coronavirus preventative measures (although no "lockdowns") as of the coming weekend.

     Here's why:

From https://www.coronavirus.in.gov/

     I'd ask my friends and acquaintances who were saying, "This virus stuff will all end after the election," how this can be, but most of them have headed off to their own bubbles, whatever new variations of social media are currently popular among the folks who took being fact-checked or banned as a mark of pride rather than evidence of poor research or clumsy presentation.  Of course, the problem with bubbles is that eventually you'll stifle in there, unless something large and sharp pops the thing.

     It doesn't look like this bug is going away just yet, and that sucks.

Procrastinated Drain

     Ever put off an onerous task for so long that it seems as if you'll never do it?

     Yeah, me, too.  Eventually there's no avoiding it.

     The kitchen drain here at at Roseholme Cottage has been slow for quite some time.  An embarrassingly long time.  When Tam was out of town for work last winter, I managed to get it pretty clear with drain cleaner, hot water and vinegar (yes, the first on the list neutralizes the last.  You don't use them both at once).  It was still slow.  A little mini-plunger action seemed to keep it running acceptably, though the dishwasher did tend to back up into the sink.  That's not good.

     It was long past time for action when, Saturday evening, the drain decided to try for Dead Slow.  Got there, too.  I promised Tam that fixing it would be at the top of the list, only Sunday I had a lot of laundry and the writer's critique group, so how about Monday?

     Monday it was, and a firm date, too.

     So last night, I got home in fairly good order with a deli-counter baked chicken, plus a container of green and black olives and little blocks of feta cheese.  I added some Mezzetta Sweet Cherry Peppers* to mine, because they're spicy-sweet and it goes with the chicken and sides like polka and an acccordion.

     Dinner out of the way, it was time to get to work.  I changed into weekend clothes, put on thin nitrile gloves with heavy, long dishwashing gloves over them,† grabbed a nutdriver, a wire coat hanger and a couple of pairs of pliers and set to work.

     The kitchen drain passes above my ham radio setup and across nearly the width of the house on a diagonal.  Nearly the entire run is modern PVC pipe, glued together; there's a 90 at the wall and a pair of 45s to zigzag around the stairs before it meets up with old iron pipe, where a pair of 45s that lead into the waste stack.  There's a hose-clamped rubber coupler at that point, the only place you can open the drain after the sink trap.  Everything else on the ground floor feeds into the stack with short, direct runs, and they have all been working okay.

     So I started taking the coupler apart.  Nasty-smelling water started to drip.  I got a buckt under it and wiggling the pipes a little farther apart, at which point flow increased to the point where it seems like a good idea to just let it run before proceeding.  I warned Tam I'd be asking for her help pretty soon and watched the gray water run.

     And run.  And run.  It slowed and I moved the pipes farther apart, which sped it back up, but finally, it was slow enough that I yelled to Tam to "glove up, get a good flashlight and come on down."  (The waste stack goes up inside one wall of the office we share, so she was only about ten feet away.)

     When she arrived, I handed her a smaller bucket and had her hold it directly under the pipe connection.  Took the pipe connection all the way apart with some effort, and got even more water out.  I picked up the bright flashlight Tam had brought and looked into the stack connection.  It was blocked with...rocks?

     Nope.  Sludge: hard-water accretions combined with grease dish soap hadn't quite grabbed, accumulated tiny food particles, bacteria and...ew.  It looked gritty, like sandstone, only black.  The unfolded coat hanger helped rake out chunks of it into the bucket Tam was holding to catch the remaining water from the drainpipe and needle-nose pliers helped me fish out most of  the remainder. I was contemplating bending the end of the coat hanger into a more useful shape when Tam spoke up:

     "Hey, Bobbi?  This bucket is getting heavy.  And you might want to look into the end of the pipe, too."

     "You'd better take that bucket upstairs and pour it out in a far corner of the back yard."

     "I was planning on it."

     While she was on that and the pipe was dripping (still!) into the larger bucket I had on the floor, I moved around to look into the pipe.  More blockage, the same kind.

     It was starting to look bad.  How far back did this extend?  I bent a better crook into the end of coathanger and proceeded to slide it up the pipe, turn it and pull back out, bringing big lumps of the stuff with it.  After the first splashes, I waited until Tam came back down to hold the smaller bucket at the end of the pipe.  It took what seemed like forever -- probably five minutes or less -- until the pipe started to clear and the unfolded coathanger wasn't finding any obstructions even at full length.  I asked Tam to dump the bucket and fetch some blue shop "rags" (heavy paper towel) from the garage, which I had forgotten.

     I cleaned off the pipe and coupler and we put the back together, a fussy job, and I cleaned up the floor while Tam went to the kitchen to run water down the sink drain.

     So far, so good: the coupler's not leaking and the drain seems to be running well.  Tonight, we'll run the dishwasher when we're both home to deal with any leaks or backups.  Here's hoping!

     Cleaned up and cleaned up and cleaned up, floor and pipes and buckets.  Scrubbed the pliers, WD-40ed them, and washed and washed my hands, arms and face.  Disgusting.  But it had to be done.
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* My weakness for pickled vegetables (and raw, finger-food ones) goes back as far as I can remember; possibly farther, as my Mom used to tell of my three or four year old self begging a sip of cider vinegar and being given a taste, with the thought that it would cure me of asking for that stuff.  Instead, I gulped down a teaspoon-full and asked for more!

† There's a reason for this besides the "Ew!" factor of wanting a better barrier.  During clean-up, there's a point where you need to get rid of the filthy outer gloves but having something between you and ick-covered tools is still a good idea.  Start with two pairs of gloves and you're ready for it without fiddling around.

Yeah, Well--

     I'm here.  I've got to go work at the North Campus, if they have plowed the lane, and that place has been a lot less nice since the Great Mouse-Ruining in 2017 and the woefully inadequate clean-up that followed.  I'm going to take the time (and spend the money, which I may or may not get back) to buy cleaning supplies, clean up the kitchenette and replace the microwave (yes, they got in it), because I have to work there and it has become painfully obvious that our (extremely understaffed) custodial department can't.

     What the heck, I already removed and disposed of all the kitchenette supplies and such when I originally found the problem, figuring I could help 'em out a little that way.  Fat lot of good it did -- they didn't even move out the fridge and clean under it until I moved it, saw untouched and very thick mouse-mess, and rang them up to very politely ask if they would not mind, perhaps, making a second try?  That was met with the kind of cheerful enthusiasm you might expect from a surly teen-ager told to clean his room.

     I suppose I'm just a fussy old lady, and everyone else is perfectly okay with a yellow-green stained floor under a dense collection of, ahem, "solid evidence" in their break room -- one wall of which is formed by the access doors of the cabinets of the equipment I'm going up there work on.

The Joys Of Recovery, The Joys Of The Season

     In a less-than-great mood this morning, though better than it was earlier--

     I went to bed pretty early, after what seemed like an eternal uphill slog to cook up a couple of nice little filets mignon and a head of cauliflower Tam had purchased.  It was too ambitious a meal for me, which is embarrassing to admit because, face it, even with staggered cooking times for "rare" and "medium-well," it's not that big a deal -- start the long-count steak, clean a head of cauliflower (turn the steak) and chop it into steaming-sized chunks (turn the steak), rig up the simple steamer with some nice this and that parsley-and-garlic in the steaming water (turn the steak), start the water, start Tam's steak, and then keep an eye on steaks and steamer while getting out my orange drink--  It's nothing, really, and having Alexa to keep track of times for me is a huge help.  Nevertheless, by the time Tam was setting up tray tables so we could look at TV while we ate, I was exhausted and irritable.

     The TV was fine, but I was barely there; I did the sinus-rinse thing yet again and went to bed not too long after.  I've been sleeping propped up, practically sitting up as the doctor recommended, and it takes a little arranging.  Once there, sleep and comfort proved elusive.  For reasons that must have made sense at the time, I didn't take a pain pill and eventually muddled my way into shallow, not very restful sleep.

     Some infinite amount of time later, there was a series of short, horrible sounds.

     What seemed like quite a long while afterwards, but could not have been, I remember hearing, "Rannie?  Rannie!  Where are you horking?  --Oh.  Bobbi, keep your eyes shut."

     There was a click. The light switch.  Red light washed through my eyelids.

     "My cat threw up on your quilt.  Just now.  I think I can change it--"

     "Oh, unh -- okay?"

     There were various stirrings and rustlings.  What felt like a blanket* settled over my head and then the weight of the quilt was lifted off.  This was followed by an hour or two of someone going downstairs to the laundry area and returning, and then a presumably fresh quilt fell over me and was tugged into place.  The light switch clicked again and I heard my door being pulled to.

     I sneaked a look.  The dim nightlight revealed the yellow quilt had been replaced by a green one.

     For some perverse reason, all this kindness, fuss and bother infuriated me.  I was awake enough to realize the total inappropriateness of my reaction but there it hovered, like Cthulhu dangling beneath the Hindenburg (LZ129), spitting fire and swearing like a stevedore.  To hell with it.  I took a pain pill, moving very slowly and carefully to avoid dropping the bottle, and eventually drifted off into some dark and dreamless place.

     When the alarm woke me up at 0600 -- cat feeding time -- one or the other of the cats had gotten the door open and both cats were in bed with me.  I got up, looked in on Tam -- fast asleep -- and stumbled through feeding the cats, then went back to sleep for several hours.

     Got up, did another sinus rinse (four to eight per day, gak).  Managed to make fried, diced potato with bacon and scrambled eggs, along with a pot of coffee -- and had my first cup since surgery: tastes great! -- not too long ago, but if I can manage to get Tam to do the grocery-shopping, I have no intention of leaving the house today, or of doing any cooking more complicated than opening cans or building a sandwich.  We can have something fancy tomorrow or Christmas day.  Maybe I'll even take another pain pill.

     Maybe I'll wrap presents.
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* That would be because it was a blanket.  I keep one on top of my bedcovers for the cats to sleep (and urp) on.  Rannie missed.

Monday Morning

     I'm fresh out of commentary.  Hollywood is just a creepy as most people feared and California is burning -- though not, for some reason, burning down the people who deserve it, just big, wide swaths of Averageville, and where's the justice in that?

     Here in Indiana, the weather has turned sharply cooler, which is not going to be helpful for the ongoing tower work.  Beggars can't be choosers; this was  a last-minute job and id we get sunshine and no more than the mildest of breezes, I'll be happy.

Uh-Oh

     Either a stomach bug, the messed-up hours or the off-brand Cajun lunch I had Monday has done my digestion ill.  I struggled with it off and on all day at work yesterday and thought the matter was settled after some unpleasantness last evening.  Woke up around 0300 for another round and again after the alarm went off at 0600.  Yuck!  Finally took some medicine after the 0300 event.

     And in other (but somehow similar in its recurrent ickiness) news, now that the Electrors have cast their votes, will the Other Parties please stop with the make-it-didn't-happen whining?  Especially the biggest Other Party?  Yeah, I'm not all that thrilled by the guy, either, but I was even less thrilled by Ms. Clinton and so was a majority of the electorate.  Your candidate lost just like mine did (only more so), and histrionic bewailing of the outcome is not going to change that.  Grow up.  Take a pill.  Mr. Trump frets you?  Then gin ya up some Congressfolk who will do stuff instead of just grumping around.

The Roseholme Ailment

     I dunno what it is, some kind of sinus infection, perhaps, but whatever it is, Tam's got a bad case and I have a mild case of it.

     Not at all fun or nice -- doing the inner-ear thing to me, with dizzies and so on.

Pro Tip

     Do not shake the milk bottle after loosening the top.  Really don't.  Especially if it's a new, full bottle.

Man Goes Crazy? Freeway At A Standstill!

     I was half awake; I thought the news story was about some unfortunate with mental problems, in trouble on an interstate through town.

     A cup of coffee and another turn of the newswheel later, I caught the real story: Mangoes!  Crazy enough.  It's a big mess at the North Split between I-70 and I-65, the aftermath of a semi wreck.  They're still cleaning it up -- the truck has been hauled off but the slippery mess of pulped fruit and rainwater remains.

     It was almost better the other way around.

Civilization Is A Disease Vector

     I'd been snickering at the "ebola has gone airborne!!!" alarmists -- the trope is a rehash of one applied to AIDS/HIV and, conversely, is a sneeze not airborne enough?* -- when I realized it in fact has gone airborne, and used our passenger jets to do so.

     Civilization is a disease vector.  The plagues of antiquity didn't hit when culture's candle was guttering low and isolated populations of huddled villagers hardly heard from the rest of the world.  Nope, you need some basic level of trade and travel, a certain population density, and a link that reaches a pool of the infected.  While your circle of friends is likely to be made up of a hundred or so people, most of them in close geographical proximity, it takes only a stunningly small number of world travelers to link your circle with everyone else's -- yes, Kevin Bacon is only six hops away and I sure hope that's just hay fever his friend's friend's second cousin's babysitter has got.

     Once upon a time, the Black Death came shambling down the Silk Road.  These days, ebola flies coach.  Don't like it?  Of course not!  But it comes with the territory.  Once it was silk; now, it's the exotic materials in your smartphone's battery.  You can't get 'em without travel. 

     Civilization is and has always been a race between problems and solutions -- and each solution carries with it another set of problems.  Stop running and they'll overwhelm it.
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* If it isn't, there's always anthrax -- but listen up: anthrax is a bacteria; forming tough, wretched little endospores that linger for decades is what it does.  Ebola is a virus and like the common cold, it wants to travel from one warm wet environment to another.  Roughly, ebola sticks to doorknobs while anthrax drifts on the breeze, and that right there is the useful difference between "airborne" and "not."  Also?  Wash your hands.

Fighting A Cold

     Yes, I have a cold of some sort -- sore throat, congestion, dizziness.  I've been mostly in bed since Friday night. 

     And I've got to be at work at 0300 Monday.  Yeech.

This Just In

    It's snowing again.  Coming down pretty good.  Cars and sidewalks are well-covered.  So far, this Winter is the fourth-snowiest in the state's history.  We may not beat that record but I'm not sure I'd bet against it.

Might As Well Shake The Old Sleighbells

     --To cover up the sound of me yelling.  Five inches of snow on the ground (and the roads) and more falling quicker than thought.

Um, Hello?

     Look, I'd post something, but the shifting weather (pushing 40+ today) has given me a raging headache so bad that right now, I'd fail the Voight-Kampff test even if you gave me a crib sheet and spotted me the turtle.

Well, That Was Fun

     Last night was the second night in a row (or was it the third?) that I have awakened along about 0300 choking on stomach acid.  The first time, I thought it was from sleeping without a pillow, which I was doing becuase my neck was sore.  So, last couple of nights, I have used a big wedge pillow.  Hasn't helped.

     Note to self: take that last ibuprofen long before bedtime, 'kay?