Update
1 year ago
Wednesday, July 31, 2019
Democratic Presidential Candidate Debate: Round Two, Part One
Tam watched the debate on her computer last night. We don't have cable and whattaya know, the party that tells me they're there for the poor and downtrodden somehow managed to get their debate on a stream that's not distributed for free over the air.
Mostly it was more of the same.
Beto O'Rouke increasingly looks like the straight, toned-down "Pat Boone" cover of military veteran Pete Buttigieg. I guess Beto's the man-of-choice for Democrats who wouldn't have one of -- delicate shudder -- "them" in the Oval office, and I don't mean Navy men.
Bernie Sanders and Elizabeth Warren are just more and more themselves, or perhaps affectionate caricatures of themselves, and appeared to me to be the very worst about observing time limits.
The rest of the candidates were, well, the rest, with the exception of Tim Ryan of Ohio, who stood out at the beginning as the only candidate who didn't put a hand over their heart for the national anthem. What the heck, Congressman? You're up there standing next your peers-in-running, some of them harshly critical of this country's government and even culture, but they all managed to do the respectful thing. Why didn't you?
Tonight is part two, with frontrunner Joe Biden, and I suppose Tam will want to follow that one, too. So far, I'm not seeing any reason to not do what I usually do, vote for the Libertarian Presidential candidate in 2020. We've tried having Presidents who are disliked by roughly half of Congress, let's go for someone they'll all loathe!
Mostly it was more of the same.
Beto O'Rouke increasingly looks like the straight, toned-down "Pat Boone" cover of military veteran Pete Buttigieg. I guess Beto's the man-of-choice for Democrats who wouldn't have one of -- delicate shudder -- "them" in the Oval office, and I don't mean Navy men.
Bernie Sanders and Elizabeth Warren are just more and more themselves, or perhaps affectionate caricatures of themselves, and appeared to me to be the very worst about observing time limits.
The rest of the candidates were, well, the rest, with the exception of Tim Ryan of Ohio, who stood out at the beginning as the only candidate who didn't put a hand over their heart for the national anthem. What the heck, Congressman? You're up there standing next your peers-in-running, some of them harshly critical of this country's government and even culture, but they all managed to do the respectful thing. Why didn't you?
Tonight is part two, with frontrunner Joe Biden, and I suppose Tam will want to follow that one, too. So far, I'm not seeing any reason to not do what I usually do, vote for the Libertarian Presidential candidate in 2020. We've tried having Presidents who are disliked by roughly half of Congress, let's go for someone they'll all loathe!
Tuesday, July 30, 2019
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.
_____________________________________
* 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, 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.
_____________________________________
* 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.
Monday, July 29, 2019
A Week Of Vacation Ends
There have been better vacations. Certainly, I have no one to blame for myself for the excitement over my car keys. And no one but me decided to begin by spending two days pretty much just sleeping and binge-watching HBO's Chernobyl. (I don't regret watching the mini-series.)
Even working Wednesday morning was optional, though it was a good idea to try to get up to speed on new stuff, since they're changing how we interact with Human Resources for benefits and the like (You'll be shocked, shocked to learn it's web-intensive, a distant cousin to a system my department is setting up for our Engineering work. Welcome to the future, here's a website and an app.)
So, back at it, and maybe I'll do better at this vacation stuff next time.
Even working Wednesday morning was optional, though it was a good idea to try to get up to speed on new stuff, since they're changing how we interact with Human Resources for benefits and the like (You'll be shocked, shocked to learn it's web-intensive, a distant cousin to a system my department is setting up for our Engineering work. Welcome to the future, here's a website and an app.)
So, back at it, and maybe I'll do better at this vacation stuff next time.
Sunday, July 28, 2019
Saturday Dinner
Charcoal-roasted pork tenderloin with potatoes, fennel bulb and fronds, carrots, onion, mushrooms, paprika turnips, corn on the cob and a few pickled cherry peppers.
Seasoned with salt and pepper on the meat, parsley on the corn, the aforementioned paprika on the turnips and rosemary crushed over the pan. Two and a half hours (for the meat, the vegetables got less, with turnips and potatoes going in first) had the meat-falling apart tender.
It was tasty! The grocery had pork tenderloin at half off. I'd been remembering my Mom's Sunday-dinner pork roast with vegetables, a rare treat, and cooking it over the grill meant I avoided several hours of oven heat building up in the kitchen. Some hickory chips on the coals didn't hurt, either. Served with sourdough rosemary rolls and Irish butter.
 |
| This is what we call food! |
It was tasty! The grocery had pork tenderloin at half off. I'd been remembering my Mom's Sunday-dinner pork roast with vegetables, a rare treat, and cooking it over the grill meant I avoided several hours of oven heat building up in the kitchen. Some hickory chips on the coals didn't hurt, either. Served with sourdough rosemary rolls and Irish butter.
Saturday, July 27, 2019
It Might Be An Oncoming Train
Or it might not.
Got some slightly better news on the big medical bill: it's a paperwork foul-up. I checked with my health insurer and their records, rather than saying they've paid all they felt like paying and I'm stuck, say that they're "waiting on additional information from the provider."
This is semi-accurate; armed with that information, I called the hospital's billing department, and the details at their end tell an even more involved story.
You see, my heath insurer isn't my health insurer. I work for A Medium-Sized Corporation, let's call them AM-SCo, headquartered in a nearby state. AM-SCo, striving to keep up with the bigger outfits, shops aggressively for a health insurance provider for their entire corporation; for the last decade, they've used a company that's very strong in AM-SCo's home state -- but it doesn't have a presence in Indiana. That's no problem, the insurance business is full of mutual backrubs and discount deals among insurers; the AM-SCo company health insurer shops aggressively and finds another insurer to partner with in Indiana.
That information goes on the back of our insurance cards: "In the states of IN, XX, YY and ZZ, outside of Big Health Insurer's Area, call 1-800-555-NUMBER or send claims to P.O. Box NNN, Generic City, Generic State." My fellow local employees and I make a point of reminding heathcare providers to check the back of the card for the Indiana-applicable procedure and all is well.
At the end of 2018, the insurance carrier, shopping aggressively, discovered they could make a better deal for Indiana coverage with a different company than the one they had been shacking up with and they were on it like a duck on a June bug.
In January, 2019, I visited the hospital with my little heart scare.
In February of 2019, the hospital billed my insurance, using the information from my insurance card.
In March of 2019, we were issued new insurance cards for 2019 with the new number and address to use for Indiana (and a few other states). I had unknowingly given the hospital incorrect information.
The old Indiana-covering insurance company bounced the claim and communicated to the main insurance carrier for AM-SCo. The main carrier amended the paperwork and passed it on. But the hospital had rebilled the 2019 Indiana insurance company and, faced with two identical bills via tow different path, they apparently vaporlocked, which resulted in my receiving the full bill, months later.
The hospital swears they can straighten this out; I've contacted the main company insurance carrier (we're running perilously close to the cut-off for questioning a claim resolution) and the HR department, who are my local point-of-contact for this kind of thing.
What I should have been billed for is 20% of the total, plus or minus some fine-print adjustments. Still biggish, but that's the order of magnitude of deductible I had signed up for and can cover for normal ER-type things.
The hospital has flagged my account as a snarl-up in the process of being unsnarled and this should avoid any untoward action toward me on their part, at least for now.
Got some slightly better news on the big medical bill: it's a paperwork foul-up. I checked with my health insurer and their records, rather than saying they've paid all they felt like paying and I'm stuck, say that they're "waiting on additional information from the provider."
This is semi-accurate; armed with that information, I called the hospital's billing department, and the details at their end tell an even more involved story.
You see, my heath insurer isn't my health insurer. I work for A Medium-Sized Corporation, let's call them AM-SCo, headquartered in a nearby state. AM-SCo, striving to keep up with the bigger outfits, shops aggressively for a health insurance provider for their entire corporation; for the last decade, they've used a company that's very strong in AM-SCo's home state -- but it doesn't have a presence in Indiana. That's no problem, the insurance business is full of mutual backrubs and discount deals among insurers; the AM-SCo company health insurer shops aggressively and finds another insurer to partner with in Indiana.
That information goes on the back of our insurance cards: "In the states of IN, XX, YY and ZZ, outside of Big Health Insurer's Area, call 1-800-555-NUMBER or send claims to P.O. Box NNN, Generic City, Generic State." My fellow local employees and I make a point of reminding heathcare providers to check the back of the card for the Indiana-applicable procedure and all is well.
At the end of 2018, the insurance carrier, shopping aggressively, discovered they could make a better deal for Indiana coverage with a different company than the one they had been shacking up with and they were on it like a duck on a June bug.
In January, 2019, I visited the hospital with my little heart scare.
In February of 2019, the hospital billed my insurance, using the information from my insurance card.
In March of 2019, we were issued new insurance cards for 2019 with the new number and address to use for Indiana (and a few other states). I had unknowingly given the hospital incorrect information.
The old Indiana-covering insurance company bounced the claim and communicated to the main insurance carrier for AM-SCo. The main carrier amended the paperwork and passed it on. But the hospital had rebilled the 2019 Indiana insurance company and, faced with two identical bills via tow different path, they apparently vaporlocked, which resulted in my receiving the full bill, months later.
The hospital swears they can straighten this out; I've contacted the main company insurance carrier (we're running perilously close to the cut-off for questioning a claim resolution) and the HR department, who are my local point-of-contact for this kind of thing.
What I should have been billed for is 20% of the total, plus or minus some fine-print adjustments. Still biggish, but that's the order of magnitude of deductible I had signed up for and can cover for normal ER-type things.
The hospital has flagged my account as a snarl-up in the process of being unsnarled and this should avoid any untoward action toward me on their part, at least for now.
Friday, July 26, 2019
And Today, A Blinding Headache
I'm like the mildly defective products they sell at reduced prices -- still functional, just unrepairably damaged.
Thursday, July 25, 2019
So, I Lost My Car Key
I lost my one and only car key, that I was meaning to add another to--
And couldn't find it. Noticed last night at bedtime it was missing (I was absolutely sure I knew where it was, in the usual place, which means I was distracted when I put it away yesterday), searched for a couple of hours without results. Slept, woke, and searched for six hours more. That got me to noon and I gave up, called the dealer, called a tow service (because it's 2019 and your car has be told the new keys are friendly keys), and spent the afternoon getting my key replaced and another added, at a price that seems disproportionately high--
But it's 2019 and my car's computer only trusts the dealer's officially authorized computer.
And I still can't find that lost key!
And couldn't find it. Noticed last night at bedtime it was missing (I was absolutely sure I knew where it was, in the usual place, which means I was distracted when I put it away yesterday), searched for a couple of hours without results. Slept, woke, and searched for six hours more. That got me to noon and I gave up, called the dealer, called a tow service (because it's 2019 and your car has be told the new keys are friendly keys), and spent the afternoon getting my key replaced and another added, at a price that seems disproportionately high--
But it's 2019 and my car's computer only trusts the dealer's officially authorized computer.
And I still can't find that lost key!
Wednesday, July 24, 2019
I Mowed The Lawn
Yes, I did, or mowed the front yard, anyway, which is the one that counts the most. Even with the hot spell over, it's tiring work; afterward, I made a little dinner (chimichurri skirt steak, which Tam had picked up at the grocer) and went to bed soon after.
And this morning, I'm hurrying around to get to a meeting at work about a new online personnel/HR system. In the middle of a week off. Because meeting.
And this morning, I'm hurrying around to get to a meeting at work about a new online personnel/HR system. In the middle of a week off. Because meeting.
Tuesday, July 23, 2019
Monday, July 22, 2019
Well, They Got Me
Back in January, I went into the ER with chest pains. It turned out to be a false alarm.
Bills have rolled through insurance and on down to me ever since; my doctor sent me off for a stress test and my part of the bill for that was pretty high. But I managed. I paid them.
By now, everything should be taken care of, right? All paid?
Nope. A bill just arrived from from the hospital, payment due on arrival, with the notation, "Balance remaining after insurance [...] We have been advised that your insurance will not be paying the remaining balance on your account. If you question this information - please contact your insurance company."
It is for an amount in excess of six thousand dollars.
Of course, I don't have it; and it's way over the supposed deductible of my supposed health insurance. The slight-of-fine print -- new this year! -- is that they apply the deductible not to the incident as a whole, but to every individual bill.
I don't have six thousand dollars just kicking around.
There's no way I can pay this quickly. Here's hoping they'll let me pay it slowly; otherwise, I'll be maxing out my credit card and scrambling to pay it off before the interest eats me alive.
And the next time I feel bad? I've learned my lesson. There's no way I'm going to the ER. If it's chest pain, I won't even go to doc-in-a-box, because they'll just send you to the ER and bill you for the referral. Nope; if I'm not unconscious, I'm not going. Maybe not even then.
Bills have rolled through insurance and on down to me ever since; my doctor sent me off for a stress test and my part of the bill for that was pretty high. But I managed. I paid them.
By now, everything should be taken care of, right? All paid?
Nope. A bill just arrived from from the hospital, payment due on arrival, with the notation, "Balance remaining after insurance [...] We have been advised that your insurance will not be paying the remaining balance on your account. If you question this information - please contact your insurance company."
It is for an amount in excess of six thousand dollars.
Of course, I don't have it; and it's way over the supposed deductible of my supposed health insurance. The slight-of-fine print -- new this year! -- is that they apply the deductible not to the incident as a whole, but to every individual bill.
I don't have six thousand dollars just kicking around.
There's no way I can pay this quickly. Here's hoping they'll let me pay it slowly; otherwise, I'll be maxing out my credit card and scrambling to pay it off before the interest eats me alive.
And the next time I feel bad? I've learned my lesson. There's no way I'm going to the ER. If it's chest pain, I won't even go to doc-in-a-box, because they'll just send you to the ER and bill you for the referral. Nope; if I'm not unconscious, I'm not going. Maybe not even then.
Weather Leads, Sinus Follows
The weather took a change last night and is still turning; temperatures won't rise much today and they're predicting a low in the fifties overnight. Last night, humidity was ninety percent or more and it's supposed to drop like a hot rock* all day.
I should know this without looking it up, since the pain in my ears -- it's painfully bilateral -- dizziness and so on is an absolutely certain sign of changing weather, and as intense as it has been this morning, it's a large change indeed. Who needs a barometer?
____________________________
* You'd think a hot-enough rock would fall a little slower, but no, not enough to notice. 9.8 meters per second squared is plenty enough.
I should know this without looking it up, since the pain in my ears -- it's painfully bilateral -- dizziness and so on is an absolutely certain sign of changing weather, and as intense as it has been this morning, it's a large change indeed. Who needs a barometer?
____________________________
* You'd think a hot-enough rock would fall a little slower, but no, not enough to notice. 9.8 meters per second squared is plenty enough.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
