Fighting Cabin Fever
Yesterday was a neighborhood comedy of errors. I was enjoying my morning stint on the throne, holding court over the crossword when there was a loud crashing sound and black out. It turns out the garbage truck was driving around the corner with the bucket up in the air. First mistake. I'd bet the second mistake was driving too fast. I keep expecting them to take out one of the kids walking to the junior high across the street.
The wire was pulled hard and far enough the telephone pole in my yard was pulled from upright to 45 degrees. The wires whacked my roommate Aaron's car enough that the paint and taillight cover on his new Prius were scuffed up. My truck got the brunt of the wires, but who could tell? My truck is afflicted with typical American made car quality, a 1989 model GMC with the paint coming off in great sheets thanks to the factory use of a water soluble primer. Because of the adventure I'm tempted to tell the power company they made the paint peel.
Aaron was out talking to the first response crew, and they told him they were going to remove the wires from my truck, as that was the only vehicle actually draped with wires. So, I took a shower, by candlelight, figuring my truck would be ready to roll when I was done. Wrong. All the power company trucks were gone, but the wire was still on my truck. I wandered outside to check it out, and saw it was the heavy bundle of wires which fed the streetlight on my wounded telephone pole.
I thought about moving the wire, but against it for two reasons. One, I've learned from numerous experiences over the last few years that PSE (Puget Sound Energy) is not to be trusted. "They said they shut off the power," wasn't enough to make me risk my life. Secondly, the 15" steel bar in my leg covered by relatively fresh incisions and metal crutches makes me a freaking lightening rod. The idea of assuming the same power company which forgot to remove the wire from the truck really remembered to shut off the juice was not very solid.
I called the power company. "We'll have someone out in a few minutes, to see if it is a power line. We can't move cable or phone lines."
"It's a power line."
She responds, "We have to see if it is a power line first."
"It's the large power cable which is attached to the street light." I answered.
"We have to check."
"Well, last I heard neither cable nor phone lines were used to power street lamps." Light humor not appreciated by officious lady.
"Watch for the service truck and talk to them. They'll be there in a couple minutes."
An hour later I called again, the new lady cracked some whips and got a linemen out in twenty minutes. Of course, he arrived five minutes after the new telephone pole, making me believe I was only being humored the entire time.
As I hinted it's, not my first encounter with PSE. My favorite started about six years ago. They harassed and threatened me with litigation for six months calling late at night and early in the morning, leaving threats pinned to the door, etc., wanting to cut down all my trees. I decided to go along, realizing I wanted to get rid of the trees which were too close to the house, and was just resisting because they were being fuckheads about it. At that point, they of course refused to remove the trees, and even lied to Senator Esser's office when I reported the attempted extortion when they were hot to take out the trees. Twice since then my neighbors and I have had to call 911 to get the branches trimmed, because they would not trim them in a timely manner, even when we told them the branches growing into the wires were smoldering and sparking. There were lots of sparks and smoke in the trees this morning when the pole was taken out, but thanks to yesterday's morning rain and the power outage it was no problem. Good thing this didn't happen three months from now during the dry weather when my firs and hemlocks turn into tinder.
Today, I rode my motorcycle, for the first time since February 19th when I broke the leg. I was hoping to get it to the shop tomorrow for some general maintenance and brake work. The hand brake, which I expect to favor for a bit, is out to lunch. My ride back was available today, which was important as I thought I might need someone to ride it to the shop for me. Aaron and I fixed the brake temporarily last night, by bleeding it and adding more fluid. This morning Aaron rolled it out of the garage to make it easier and I rode it to work, then to the shop during lunch, where I met Bob who gave me a ride back. Oh my God. I forgot how much I love riding. The hardest part was indeed putting the boot on, and now that I know I can do that, I'll be riding the old Suzuki until the Guzzi is ready.
While we were bleeding the brakes last night the power was restored, giving me just enough time to bake a couple hot pockets. I don't eat them much anymore, even though they are a hundred times better baked. Thanks to the leg recovery my body has developed a taste for healthier fare, and lets me know if I get careless. Time was short, and only one junk food meal in several days seems to be allowed. Then Aaron, Beth, and I went to see the "pay what you will" preview show at Second Story Repertory in Redmond.
Sylvia is one of my favorite comedies. The actors did a darn good job for a preview. The woman playing the wife, Kate, was the exception. She was out there all by herself, not letting herself be changed, just 'emoting' in a premeditated manner. The show would have been three times as good had she been generous with her fellow actors. I was thinking this all through the first act, and found myself actually cross with the woman. Probably because I felt she had the experience and wherewithal to know better. The last third or quarter of the second act she connected with the other actors and the audience. I'd like to talk to someone who sees the show later, to see if she is connected throughout the show. They have makings of a very good show, and that would make a bigger difference than anything I could think of.
Today I'm about to head out for my first baseball game of the year. Beth, and my friend Wayne, and his son or wife are going. I am really looking forward to it, especially today, when we were unexpectedly blessed with a beautiful day.
The wire was pulled hard and far enough the telephone pole in my yard was pulled from upright to 45 degrees. The wires whacked my roommate Aaron's car enough that the paint and taillight cover on his new Prius were scuffed up. My truck got the brunt of the wires, but who could tell? My truck is afflicted with typical American made car quality, a 1989 model GMC with the paint coming off in great sheets thanks to the factory use of a water soluble primer. Because of the adventure I'm tempted to tell the power company they made the paint peel.
Aaron was out talking to the first response crew, and they told him they were going to remove the wires from my truck, as that was the only vehicle actually draped with wires. So, I took a shower, by candlelight, figuring my truck would be ready to roll when I was done. Wrong. All the power company trucks were gone, but the wire was still on my truck. I wandered outside to check it out, and saw it was the heavy bundle of wires which fed the streetlight on my wounded telephone pole.
I thought about moving the wire, but against it for two reasons. One, I've learned from numerous experiences over the last few years that PSE (Puget Sound Energy) is not to be trusted. "They said they shut off the power," wasn't enough to make me risk my life. Secondly, the 15" steel bar in my leg covered by relatively fresh incisions and metal crutches makes me a freaking lightening rod. The idea of assuming the same power company which forgot to remove the wire from the truck really remembered to shut off the juice was not very solid.
I called the power company. "We'll have someone out in a few minutes, to see if it is a power line. We can't move cable or phone lines."
"It's a power line."
She responds, "We have to see if it is a power line first."
"It's the large power cable which is attached to the street light." I answered.
"We have to check."
"Well, last I heard neither cable nor phone lines were used to power street lamps." Light humor not appreciated by officious lady.
"Watch for the service truck and talk to them. They'll be there in a couple minutes."
An hour later I called again, the new lady cracked some whips and got a linemen out in twenty minutes. Of course, he arrived five minutes after the new telephone pole, making me believe I was only being humored the entire time.
As I hinted it's, not my first encounter with PSE. My favorite started about six years ago. They harassed and threatened me with litigation for six months calling late at night and early in the morning, leaving threats pinned to the door, etc., wanting to cut down all my trees. I decided to go along, realizing I wanted to get rid of the trees which were too close to the house, and was just resisting because they were being fuckheads about it. At that point, they of course refused to remove the trees, and even lied to Senator Esser's office when I reported the attempted extortion when they were hot to take out the trees. Twice since then my neighbors and I have had to call 911 to get the branches trimmed, because they would not trim them in a timely manner, even when we told them the branches growing into the wires were smoldering and sparking. There were lots of sparks and smoke in the trees this morning when the pole was taken out, but thanks to yesterday's morning rain and the power outage it was no problem. Good thing this didn't happen three months from now during the dry weather when my firs and hemlocks turn into tinder.
Today, I rode my motorcycle, for the first time since February 19th when I broke the leg. I was hoping to get it to the shop tomorrow for some general maintenance and brake work. The hand brake, which I expect to favor for a bit, is out to lunch. My ride back was available today, which was important as I thought I might need someone to ride it to the shop for me. Aaron and I fixed the brake temporarily last night, by bleeding it and adding more fluid. This morning Aaron rolled it out of the garage to make it easier and I rode it to work, then to the shop during lunch, where I met Bob who gave me a ride back. Oh my God. I forgot how much I love riding. The hardest part was indeed putting the boot on, and now that I know I can do that, I'll be riding the old Suzuki until the Guzzi is ready.
While we were bleeding the brakes last night the power was restored, giving me just enough time to bake a couple hot pockets. I don't eat them much anymore, even though they are a hundred times better baked. Thanks to the leg recovery my body has developed a taste for healthier fare, and lets me know if I get careless. Time was short, and only one junk food meal in several days seems to be allowed. Then Aaron, Beth, and I went to see the "pay what you will" preview show at Second Story Repertory in Redmond.
Sylvia is one of my favorite comedies. The actors did a darn good job for a preview. The woman playing the wife, Kate, was the exception. She was out there all by herself, not letting herself be changed, just 'emoting' in a premeditated manner. The show would have been three times as good had she been generous with her fellow actors. I was thinking this all through the first act, and found myself actually cross with the woman. Probably because I felt she had the experience and wherewithal to know better. The last third or quarter of the second act she connected with the other actors and the audience. I'd like to talk to someone who sees the show later, to see if she is connected throughout the show. They have makings of a very good show, and that would make a bigger difference than anything I could think of.
Today I'm about to head out for my first baseball game of the year. Beth, and my friend Wayne, and his son or wife are going. I am really looking forward to it, especially today, when we were unexpectedly blessed with a beautiful day.
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