See Laura? I'm Alive...

Happily my Mom decided that the weather was too rotten for me to ride my motorcycle, and insisted that she and my Dad drive down and pick me up.  I'm glad she did.  All that snow fell yesterday while I would have been trying to get home.  Like 7 or 8 inches.  Not so fun on a bike.  I definitely wasn't dreaming of a white Christmas yesterday morning.  None the less... white.

PS - Lookit!  A photo!

I Should Have a Picture but I Don't...

I always feel kind of bad when I post without a picture.  People who read blogs like pictures, but for some reason for the last five or six years I couldn't bother myself to take any.  There are very few.  In fact the years seem to have just disappeared.  I wonder what memories I'll have from these years.  These blog posts (which I stopped for a long time), are the only chronicle I have of this time, aside from a journal I've written during sometimes somewhat infrequent Sacrament Meeting attendance.  That, and I guess yearbooks from school.  That's where I did most of my living anyway.  But it wasn't real.  It was only a safe proxy for real life.  I could leave and be alone.  My relationships with people there were on some level play acting at real life, to fool myself into feeling like I was still living.  That sounds pretty sad, but it is what it is.  I'm working on it.

Anyway, on Friday I paid the impact fees to the fire district for my house, printed out the corrections that the County Building Dept asked for and turned them in.  If I didn't make any new mistakes that require correction in my corrections, I may soon have a building permit.  And it's snowing.  It's been colder this winter than it has for the last few.  So the snow has stuck a little longer than it usually does.

The cold has created a bit of a problem too.  When I bought my bike the guy said it was a little cold blooded and pointed out that he'd installed a battery tender, with I guess the addition of a part he didn't give me, you can plug it into the wall and trickle charge it in the winter.  I thought nothing of it, but when I got back from Thanksgiving at Dave's in Seattle the battery was dead.  I had to push start it.  I thing I might have injured the battery a little while ago, when doing some routine maintenance on it I checked the battery cells and found them low on electrolytes   So I got some Brondo... Not really.  I put some tap water in, only to discover that the last owner had installed an after market gel battery.  From what I read it doesn't necessarily destroy it to add water to a gel battery, but you definitely want it to be distilled water.  The process of the battery can concentrate minerals present in the water, and that can ruin the battery.  I of course added tap water, which fills my shower head with hard water deposits and boiler scale about once every two or three weeks.  You live you learn, huh?

Anyway, in the cold weather the battery isn't charging while running.  I can only charge it enough for one electric start if I'm lucky.  If not I end up riding down the hill in front of my apartment, either on the sidewalk or the wrong way on the one way street, so that I can start by compression.  I tried for about an hour on Friday to get running fast enough on level ground to get it to turn over.  No dice.

So I need to take at least the battery home to Cache Valley to trickle charge it over Christmas.  And I'm thinking I might ride the bike.  It's raining right now, in Salt Lake, and snowing in Cache Valley.  And I'd drive my car, but I'm pretty worried about it.  There's a nail in the rear passenger side tire that is slow leaking, and I discovered on Saturday why it won't hold any oil.  I thought it was because I burned the rings when I ran it out of oil because the electrics in the dash failed and the check oil light didn't go on.  I probably did that, so it is almost surely burning oil there, and the compression is nearly gone.  The 0-60 time had roughly doubled.  The big problem I found however, is a big crack in the engine block.  Oil is spitting out of it all over the engine compartment.  That could conceivably lead to the car starting on fire as I drive it down the freeway.  Hence, my thinking about riding the bike, even with the rain and snow.  I don't know.  I guess I'll figure it out.

Saturday I went out to Magna and worked on the fence.  I finally got all the materials and started installing the top rail.  It ended up really ugly.  I was so far off that I took the top rails off and re-cut several of the line posts to try to equalize the height.  I also got a couple new terminal posts.  I placed one at the north east corner of the lot, and replaced the one at the north west corner.  I did this partly because the one at the north west was out of line, but also because some friends who are redoing their back yard offered me the chainlink fence that surrounds it, and it is a foot taller than I cut the original north west terminal post.

While I was working, Tony, the guy next door who had been over the lot line came out and chatted.  He's a super friendly guy, and pretty funny.  He just had a pace maker put in, and he said he was going to the shopping center so he could ups the pace maker to start and boost Christmas shoppers cars.  He also had some useful advice on fence building.  He's done chainlink a few times before.  I tried one of them, but learned a useful caveat.

If you are going to dispense with the bucket and mix the concrete directly in the hole, make sure you place the post before you mix it.  I just poured in the ready mix then the water and went to town.  The hole openings were small, so you couldn't get in there to stir it up very well, and I don't think the stuff at the bottom got very well mixed.  As a result it was super dense and hard, and even hammering on the top of the posts didn't drive them far enough in for comfort.  So place the pole in the hole, then mix the ready mix and the water incrementally around it.  Now you know.

The guy next door on the north is also super nice.  He saw me hauling milk jugs full of water that I'd brought from home and came out and told me I could use his hose spigots in addition to the power outlet he'd already offered.  I had enough water, but I took him up on the power outlet.  I had borrowed Dad's circular saw to cut the pipes once I placed them.  But I started to get really irritated by some wild rose bushes that are right by the fence line.  I kept getting snagged by thorns as I walked by, so I put the ripping blade on the saw and went to town.  I'd cut about a quarter of them down when I severed the power cord.  Sorry Dad.  That was the end of the work I could do Saturday, so I took it home and fixed it by patching it with a soldering iron.  It was a pain, but it worked.  Hopefully the solder won't be too brittle and break.

Anyway, I'd better figure out about going to Cache Valley.  It's 10:00AM on Christmas Eve.

Library?

So, today I applied for a part time job at the Salt Lake Library.  If I get it, it should be just enough to pay my rent after all is said and done.  I hope I get it.  Although it is a relatively low paying part time job, I've always kind of wanted to work at the library.  We'll see what happens.

They wanted a cover letter, and I think I might have over-shared, but I wanted them to get an idea of me.  Here is the text:


Dear Selector,

I am applying for a Library Assistant position.

My pre-teen and early teen years were... awkward. I quickly realized that a good fat book made an excellent shield against the interest of girls and other types of friends. And libraries, the repositories of these marvelous shields became my Fortress of Solitude. For me, the library was the happiest place on earth. Disney Land didn’t stack up to the stacks at all, in my opinion.

Then two great things happened  I fell in love with the content of the books I was reading, and I developed some social skills. The library was still the happiest place on earth, but it became for me a platform for sharing the literature that I found so valuable with others. Through high school I was the bane some English teachers, and the primary collaborator with others, because I had already read the material we covered in the classes. I did whatever I could to promote the stories to other students. I became a big believer in the idea of bibliotherapy, that there is a right time for a right book for everyone, and I was constantly giving friends reading recommendations. I also began to write.

On my first tour through Utah State University I decided I should do something sensible and marketable. I got a degree in Tech Writing, and did an internship at the Interactive Media Research Lab. At the end of it I realized there were no tech writing jobs at the time, so it wasn’t so marketable, and that I didn’t want to write instructions for programming your DVR or legal warnings for prescription drugs anyway. So it wasn’t so sensible a decision either.

I went back to my love of literature, and back to school. I got a degree in English Education and a School Library Media Certification. Originally I had decided only to look for media center jobs, but was eventually recruited to teach Language Arts at East Hollywood High, a charter school in West Valley, with the understanding that I’d take over the media center after the current director retired the next year. I did so in ‘08, and ran it actively through that school year. Unfortunately the crash in home prices cut property tax revenues, out of which schools budgets are taken. Budget cuts meant that we didn’t have any money for the library. I bought books with my own money for a while, but after that year the principal realized we could meet the accreditation requirement of having a full time Library/Media teacher, even if I wasn’t in the Media Center. I was returned full time to teaching English and Yearbook/Journalism, and though I was the titular Director, the Media Center was turned over to an office aide. I was unhappy with the principal’s decision, but I loved my students and loved the material I was teaching. I continued at the school for two more years.

When I went into contract negotiations at the end the last school year the principal informed me he wasn’t bringing me back for 2012/13. The vice principal had suddenly quit, and he had a friend he wanted to give the position to. Unfortunately it was only a part time position and his friend taught English and Yearbook too, so he increased the English class sizes to accommodate cutting two sections of it, and gave his friend my job and the vice principal job. I was crushed. It was the middle of June, and all the schools do their hiring for the next year in March, April and May. I applied for a couple of the remaining jobs but was left without a teaching position this year.

This was all particularly dismaying because I was in the early stages of building myself a house, and I’d counted on my salary for my maintenance while I dedicated my savings to the construction. I’m still in the early stages of building, but I find myself needing at least part time employment to pay rent while I work on the house.

So, I’m applying for a Library Assistant position. The hours I can work are flexible, and I think I have all the requisite skills. I’m familiar with library procedures  cataloging and circulation. I have computer technology, design and photography skills. I understand, speak and write passable Spanish. I love literature, film and music, and I think working for the Salt Lake Library would be a very cool job. I hope you’ll give me the chance.

Thanks,
Mike Jones

Crap.  I just realized that I sent the un-spell checked version.

Ham...

For Thanksgiving Dinner up at Dave's in Washington, Nic made a ham.  After returning to Salt Lake I found myself caving it, and I remembered a couple years ago getting one for a good deal after some holiday.  I don't remember which.  So I decided to go buy one.  They were three bucks a pound, and each was 7lbs+. I wondered if $21 was reasonable, given I'm trying so hard to be frugal, living off savings as I am.  I decided to do it.

So I have been eating it for two meals a day for four days, since Sunday.  I cut off all the spiral cut stuff, and froze the bone and the rest.  I've made it through all the spiral, which I estimate as 4lbs.  Now I'm going to make a white bean soup out of the bone and the rest of it.  I suspect I'll be eating that for at least one meal for the next three days.  All in all, I think eating for a week on $29 (the ham and the soup stuff) was a pretty decent deal.  But I probably won't eat any more ham for a couple more years.

Post-Thanksgiving discounted pie, on the other hand...

Lots and Lots of Trouble...

I've been waiting six weeks for the County Building Inspectors Office to get to inspecting my plans, but an issue came up a couple weeks ago.  I was out at the lot and realized that it wasn't as large as I'd marked it on my house plan.  So I went and looked at the plat at the county and I realized that I'd gotten the dimensions written down wrong a long time back.  It meant I was very close to the edge of the buildable area, so I went out and started looking for survey pins and realized that there was a fence with the neighbor several feet onto my lot.  I wasn't going to say anything, but eventually I changed my mind when I realized that it would make it impossible to build an accessory structure that I was going to build before the house and use to stay in while I'm building the house.  Paying six hundred dollars a month for rent when is a bit of a drain on the savings when you have no income.

The red bit in the photo is the encroachment.

I contacted the surveyor who did the survey on file at the county and he found it in his records.  It indeed shows that the fence is seven feet into my lot.  This is because there used to be an alleyway, through the block between my neighbor's yard and mine, several owners back.  The fence was built one foot from the edge of the alley.  Then the county vacated the alley and gave the land up to the center line to the lots on either side.  The previous owner never moved the fence to reflect the new border, and the guy next door just used the space.

So I went out there yesterday and measured it just to make sure.  The result was clear.  He was seven feet onto my lot, so I took a letter with me explaining that I was going to move the fence.  This was on the advice of the people in the planning office, because it might lead to problems with the building inspector when he comes to measure setbacks when I'm getting ready to lay a foundation.  Also several people pointed out to me that I was paying property taxes for land I didn't have access to, which didn't make a lot of sense.

I was really worried that it was going to lead to litigation, so I talked to Mark LaRocco and Mr. Forsberg, who are both lawyers, about it, and they both thought I was legally ok.  They thought if the guy tried to sue me over it I'd win.  But when I went to the guy's door and explained things and gave him the letter he was really cool about it.  He knew he was encroaching, and had just asked the original owner of my lot if it bothered him, and he'd allowed it.  The original owner was using it as a garden for his deli, Collosimo's, down 90th west on main street.  So he wasn't too concerned about the seven feet when the county gave up the alley.

Obviously it isn't going to be a done deal until it is done, but I think things are working out without problems or bad feelings.  The guy said that he was going to get some friends to help him move his sheds this weekend.  I offered to help, and told him to email me if he needed me.  I'm planning on starting the new fence monday.    Anyway, we'll see how it goes.

Anyway, during the wait on the plans I've tackled a couple projects.  I cut down my motorcycle seat.  I said before it was too tall for me.  I saw a tutorial on the internet and decided to give it a go.  I thought that I could get a bit lower.  I found an upholsterer near by and went and bought some foam and vinyl from him.  I also found some rebond carpet pad by dumpster diving at a carpet outlet store.  I also bought a blue camp pad made of closed cell foam at Walmart for seven bucks.

It took about a month of experimenting, during which time I learned a lot about foam and ergonomics, but I finished it off.  I started out with just several layers of the rebond.  But it was too soft.  Foam is measured both by its density and amount of weight required to compress it by 25% of its unstressed size.  I think.  Anyway, the rebond was too soft and lead to back pain.  The closed cell was too hard by itself, and led to back pain.  What followed were several iterations of combinations of the two.  Eventually I figured out that I'd made it too low.  I took off about four inches, but it pulled me too far forward and took all the weight off my feet and wrists, which put it all on my lower back, which led to back pain.  Anyway, back pain and again and again, but finally I figured it out and got it to the point that it felt alright.  Putting a layer of soft, thin smoothing foam on top was good for comfort.

There are a couple things I'd do different next time.  One mistake is that while I was testing different configurations I covered it in plastic sheeting.  Doing different layer configurations I needed to be able to get at it, so I slit the plastic down the sides of the seat.  That meant that when I finished with it, before covering it in the vinyl I had to patch it up and put it together with a heat gun.  This left big melted plastic seams that show through the vinyl after I stretched it on.  The other was that I pulled the vinyl really tight so it would be smooth.  That compressed the thin layer of soft smoothing foam.  The result was that it wasn't as comfortable as it had been before covering it.

As for my other project, my lcd computer monitor went out after a power outage.  I'd been having troubles with it before, not turning on when I pushed the button after it went out from the power saving setting on the screen saver.  Eventually I'd just turned that setting off and forgotten about it.

But when it went out I couldn't get it turned back on for anything.  So I was looking for a new monitor online when I realized I needed the model number of the old monitor to search for a comparable one, I found out that this model was susceptible to this problem because of cheap capacitors.  I found a tutorial on how to replace the capacitors online, and went to an electronic components supply place to buy new ones.  Then I got a cheap soldering iron and some solder at Harbor Freight, and cracked the monitor open.  I was nervous because I'd never done anything like this before, never soldered at all, but I figured I didn't have anything to lose.

It took about four hours to dig the mother board out, remove the old capacitors and solder in the new ones.  I was quite anxious when I plugged it it and hit the switch, but it fired right up, better than new.  Good stuff.  I saved about a hundred and twenty bucks on it I figure.

Skyline Drive

I went for a ride up Skylline Drive in Bountiful this last Sunday.  The leaves were turning, and it was very pretty.  There were a whole lot of people, driving up in anything they could drive, 3-wheelers, 4-wheelers, trucks, motorcycles, cars, mini-vans.  Whatever.  Everyone was up there, and everyone was taking pictures. I made a panoramic.  Here are I guess is a small version.  If you want a bigger one I could email a copy..

Riding a Motorcycle...

I think it is fair to say that riding a motorcycle is one of the best things in my life.  When I was younger all I saw were the cliches.  Big fat guys on ridiculous Harley Davidsons.  My brother David and early memories of my father were touchstones to biking, but they never inspired in me the desire to take it up.  Later I had friends with four wheelers, and I rode those a couple times, but my dad steadfastly refused to get one when I asked.  That might have developed into a love of bikes.  But in the end it was about thrift.

I'm a cheap guy.  I just don't like spending money.  I save the great majority of whatever I earn, because to me money is security.  Saved money means that in that rainy day (now) I can pay my rent while I try to build my house.  Building the house myself all out of my savings is another cost saving measure.

So, when I realized I could get 75 miles to the gallon on a motorcycle instead of a lowly 30 in my car, I bought one and learned how to ride it.  I was 31 years old.

It was after that I started to get stupid and rhapsodic about bikes.  Maybe not rhapsodic, but it wasn't really about gas mileage anymore.  Now I've got a different bike, a dual sport (although a big fat one) which means its street legal and can go in the dirt (a little), and I realize that a big factor in how I feel is how much I ride.  There are moments of wonder on the back of a bike that I've just never had in a car.  Granted, I've never really driven an awe inspiring car, but even a dumb little economy bike can do that to me.  I remember riding my old bike through the early fall evening away from the Rice Eccles Stadium after my shift chaperoning prom the year before last.  There was a breeze, and the changing leaves where shivering against each other.  There was just enough chill to make wearing a jacket feel right.  The sun was setting, and the light was coming in rays through the shadows.  And I felt alright.  It would have been different in my car.  Jeremy Clarkson of Top Gear has referred to my model of car as "a misery box".

Anyway, I went on three or four long rides last week, that had a salubrious effect on my mood.  I haven't been on one this week and it is telling.  Anyway, here are some of the rides that I mapped out with Google.

09-13-12

Started at my place in the Aves and went up to Virginia St, down past the law school, up around the stadium and up Emigration Canyon.  The Canyon was beautiful.  I went over Little Mountain without stopping at the summit, down past the reservoir and up toward the East Canyon summit.  This is a twisty road.  On a bike with a lower center of gravity it would be tremendous fun, but even on my bike it is good.  You can get pretty sideways.  At the top I stopped for a moment and looked down to the valley.  I've been there before.

Then I went down the other side, which is if anything more twisty.  It isn't quick with KLR brakes.  So, a guy in an SUV that he obviously though was made by Ferrari, spent the majority of the way down half way up my colon.  Not so fun.  But he got the clue and backed up after he tried to take a corner to quickly and almost lost it.  I thought I'd missed the turn off for Jeremy Ranch Rd, but kept on.

I was listening to the end of "Night Probe!" by Clive Cussler.  It was another of those Dirk Manly novels.  I always call him Dirk Manly in my head, even though its Dirk Pitt.  That was a flub by Jen Hancey when we first watched Sahara together.

I was a bit nervous on the dirt on Jeremy Ranch Rd.  I just don't have that much dirt experience, (read, I'd been on the dirt twice on this bike, and it went poorly the first time), so I took it easy.  It was fine though.  There wasn't any challenge to it.  It was just a regular dirt road.  After the dirt I ended up in Summit Park I guess.  The Jeremy Ranch area.  I stopped at the gas station before getting on I-80 so I could finish off the audio book and start another.  Dirk found an old secret treaty that ceded Canada to America.  As this book was written in the 80's we we've been living in "The United States of Canada".  Never knew it.  After Dirk Manly I began "The World is Flat," by Thomas Freidman, as I rode down I-80 and home.

From I-80 there isn't much to say about the ride.  Except 70mph near the mouth of the canyon seems too fast, but it is the speed you have to go unless you want to risk getting flattened by semi trucks coming up behind you.  In case you couldn't tell I don't feel the need to ride too quickly.


09-13-12

This was a fun one.  Started at my place in the Aves, and went from I-15 to the 201 down to the last Magna exit.  From there I swung past my lot but didn't stop.  I got on the Old Bingham Highway, and headed south toward Herriman.  I turned right into Butterfield Canyon and went past the Burro Ranch place.  Butterfield Canyon is very cool.  Really twisty.  After the road starts its climb it goes up the side of the mountain and the views are pretty spectacular.  There are a few blind corners that are kind of scary.  It is one lane and there is traffic moving both ways, so you never know if there's going to be a truck coming head on when you get around the bend.  Also there is a lot of rock fall, so you have to keep an eye where your tires are, because you're moving pretty slowly, and one of them can make it messy.  The fact is that if I went down on this bike I'm pretty sure I couldn't lift it by myself.  So I don't want to do that.  At all.

Anyway the pavement ends at the summit.  The views both toward the Salt Lake Valley and Tooele are beautiful.  There's a little parking lot where I left the bike.  I walked up the mountain toward the peak where you can look down into the copper mine.  I went up there once before with Mike Forsberg, and Mykel and Brent Dougherty.  It got dark before we made it more than half way up, and we had to turn back.  I made it to exactly the same spot and ran into a truck parked across the road with a big stop sign hanging on it.  The guy in the truck said they were grading the road above and I couldn't continue on.  That was a bit of a bummer.  I went back to the bike and started down the other side.

The Tooele side isn't paved, although it looked like it had been graded at some point relatively recently.  The grading left loose soil and there were some pretty steep grade curves, so cornering was a little nervous.  After the steep section with the switchbacking the pavement starts again.  There are tons of camp and picnic grounds off the road, and a couple times I saw teenagers looking nervous and getting into cars.  Sex or drugs.  I didn't hear any rock and roll.  So I felt secure they were there for one or both of the other two.  I wasn't so into the idea of being on the road with them if it was the drugs.

Eventually I came across cows.  Quite a few cows.  Someone was running them in the canyon, and a big black bull with stubby but sharp looking horns was eyeing me funny.  I was just waiting for him to come after me.  My bike is red, and I felt confident he was one of those special bulls who wasn't colorblind, and had been raised like me to believe that as a bull he was supposed to be enraged by the color.  The bigger problem was the fat girl cow that I didn't see in the middle of the road peeing leisurely until I was close enough that stopping wasn't easy.  But stop I did.  There were two women trying to stop traffic, and my instinct was that they were wives of ranchers testily scolding people for using the canyon.  I rode by pretending I didn't see the woman grabbing at me and gesturing me off the road toward their trucks.  After I was a few hundred yards down I started to worry that they were having car trouble and just wanted help, and I felt almost guilty enough to go back and ask if they were ok.  I salved my conscience, because four cars went up the road while I was feeling guilty, in one of which was a very friendly looking older couple.

Out of the canyon, rather than going into Tooele turned right and went up the longest straightest road in Utah.  It must go for six or seven miles straight as an arrow through Erda.  Eventually, however, it runs out of pavement without any street signs.  It didn't look promising so I turned around and went west to the highway that runs north through Stansbury Park and Lake Pointe.  From there I got on I-80 east around the point, then got off at Saltaire.  I rode up the frontage road until the airport gets in the way.  It's a cool road.  It goes from pavement to slabby concrete.  When the lake is higher it there are salt fens by the road, and a million bugs in the air.  With the lake as low as it is right now, (low, low, low, with it seems like miles of stinky beach at Saltaire) it is just grass and weeds.  You go too fast on that road.  The freeway is right next to you, so you have the tendency to match the traffic.  You shouldn't, but you do.

After that there's nothing interesting.  Back on I-80 to 5th south, and home.

09-14-12

I decided to go home for the weekend.  I was going to go up Emigration over Little Mountain around the reservoir and through Morgan, but it was too late in the day.  So I started at my place went up to the Capitol, down Victory Ln.  I got on I-15 north and went as far as Farmington.  There I got off and got some gas.  Then up went up Highway 89 to I-84 up the canyon.  There I came out at Mountain Green, to which I'd never been.  I took Trappers Loop up over the mountain to Huntsville, past Snow Basin.  I'd never been up there before.  It was really beautiful.  The road was a fun drive, and I'd have loved it except for the brother of the guy from Little Mountain a couple days before, driving his Ferrari SUV.  This one was towing a boat.  I couldn't believe the speed this guy was going, and how close he was getting to me.  I was five or ten miles over the speeds on the corner speed signs, and this guy seemed like he wanted nothing more than to drive over me on his way to glory.  Crazy.  I was looking for a place to pull off and let him pass but I hit Huntsville first.

From there I turned right on 1st South and went up highway 39.  It wasn't very picturesque.  Nor was it a particularly fun road to ride.  The only remarkable thing was that there were approximately 1,000,000 church campgrounds, all of which were hosting youth groups that night.  It was really kind of weird.

It started getting really cold.  Really cold.  And the sun was as good as set since I was deep in the mountain. Eventually I hit the Ant Flat Rd turn off.  It was not bad.  It was a little washboardy, but you could drive any regular car over it without trouble if you took it relatively slow.  It was pretty.  Not as pretty as the road between Avon and Liberty, which you could see a few miles up the mountain.  But it was pretty still.  I was nervous looking at it on the map, because it was the longest stretch of dirt I'd done, almost 15 miles, but it was fine.  I saw some cows, and some sheep.  A couple of them were black.  That was about it.

On the far side of the Ant Flat Rd I emerged into Blacksmith Fork Canyon.  It was fantastic.  The funnest canyon I've ever run.  The curves are perfect for the lazy quick that I do on the KLR.  I enjoyed it thoroughly.  There were port-a-potties at intervals down the road.  I didn't find out until later that they were running the Top of Utah Marathon down the canyon the next day.

Anyway, the rest of the ride home was... whatever.  It was twilight when I went through Blacksmith Fork, dark the last couple miles home.  That's all.

Remembered Another One...

Bookstore Clerk, 24ish - I worked at the USU Bookstore in the basement of the Student Center.  It was fun.  We moved big piles of text books around, and helped people find their books when they came at the beginning of the semester.  I think I got like $7 an hour.  That might be a job I could do again.

Other Jobs...

I forgot some jobs:

Roofer, Age 24? - Dad and I put a new roof on the cabin.  Took off everything down to the decking, then replaced it all.  Except this time instead of asphalt shingles we did an aluminum roof.

Shelving Installer, 25 - When USU decided to knock down the Sci-Tech library and re-build it with a super cool robotic shelving retrieval system, there was only one person to call.  I don't know that person.  There were a bunch of shelves in the that weren't part of the robot system.   They were done by a firm here in Salt Lake called Heinricksen-Butler?  Anyway, I got hired on to a temp crew to do them.  It was me and three other guys working under this black guy named Ivan.  He had something going on with his lower lip.  It looked like he'd just been punched really hard.  He was a funny guy.  Really nice.  He'd just joined the church and married a mormon girl.  On this job I did my first and only overnight work travelling.  We did about three fourths of the shelves at the new South Jordan Library by the Harmons on 17th West and a little past 104th south.  They put us up in individual rooms at the Crystal Inn.  Wow.

Writing Center Tutor, 23-26 - I spent three semesters I think at the end of my second tour through USU working in the Writing Center.  It was in the basement of the English Building, on the south side of the quad, kitty corner to Old Main.  We counseled English 1010 and 2010 students on how to write their papers.  Also we were periodically given individual responsibility for College of Education students who were trying to pass the written test for the Secondary or Elementary graduation requirement.  I counseled a guy named Colby who was majoring in technical education.  He'd already failed the test twice when he was assigned to me.  He was one of those guys who grew up in the sticks, who never had much use for literacy, but now found himself in a hard spot.  He was a really good guy, and I'm sure he's made a great teacher.  It was a rough go though because the education department only let you take the test three times, and if you failed you weren't awarded a degree.  Pretty awful considering the students who were taking it had just spent four years and many thousands of dollars to get to that point.  Colby obviously had some learning disabilities, so we found some workarounds for his problems that got him through it.

Employment History...

I was sitting here trying to remember all the jobs I'd had, so I thought I'd work up a list.  Here it goes.

Moving Pipe, Age 6 to 9 - Don't know if it was really a job.  Mostly it was Steve Theurer's job, and I tagged along.  His dad paid me anyway.  It was only pocket change.  We used to ride our bikes, or very ocasionally their three-wheeler down to the farm, about two blocks away.  We'd move the sprinkler pipes up and down the upper and lower fields, one row at a time.  There were about four or five aluminum pipes, about 12 feet long each and maybe three inches in diameter.  There were like four runs of pipe per field, that connected to plugs, and rows would alternate pulgs, so we'd move the row to the next two plugs up and seal the old one.  I think we earned 7 cents a pipe.  It was enough to keep us in soda refills of our Maveric Mugs.  25 cents a piece.  We'd just mix all the non-caffinated drinks on the fountain.  Sometimes I'd get daring and add caffinated Mt. Dew.

Dishwasher, Age 16 - I worked one night at the Copper Mill washing dishes.  I got the job through a kid I was kind of freindly with at school.  I think his name was Kenny Fluckinger.  Anyway, he was talking about how he was quiting the job in the locker room at school and I over heard him and asked if he'd introduce me and put in a good word.  I went in and met him there, and he introduced me to the line cook.  He gave me the job on the spot and told me to be there to work the next day.  The next afternoon Sue, my swim coach, pulled me aside and told me she was worried that I'd have to miss practices to work there.  She said if I quit then went through the guard program she'd give me a job at the pool.  I went in and worked that night because I didn't want to leave them un-staffed for the shift.  I earned more that night than I'd ever earned in one day.  More than minimum wage, which was $4.25 at the time I think.  I think I earned like $5 an hour.

Lifeguard, Age 16-19 - I worked at the pool for three years in high school.  We'd guard in I think 20 minute intervals.  In the off time we'd clean.  Sue was obsessive about cleanliness.  Her house was crazy clean.  This was considerable since she spent about 14 or 15 hours a day at school and the pool.  To think she went home then and cleaned two or three hours each day, and still graded papers was amazing.  Actually, a lot of times I ended up grading papers for her.  I don't know if that was really all right, but I thought it was pretty cool at the time that she trusted me enough to grade the papers of people ahead of me in school.  Anyway, we also taught swim lessons in the summer.  I really, really liked working with little kids.  I also periodically taught aquasize classes, so I got to work with senior citizens too.  The old ladies loved me.  I really made them lift those thighs.  They said that the girls always took it too easy on them.  But I felt no pity.  Infirmity be damned!  I think I started at like $6.50 guarding, then went up to $7.50 when I became a head guard.  We got like $8.00 for swim lessons, and $25.00 I think for private lessons.

Baker, 21 - I got a job at The Old Gristmill on 4th North in Logan soon after my mission.  I went to a ton of places that I thought I might like working and asked for applications.  I had been trying to apply at Hastings (they weren't hiring) and I went into The Old Gristmill on a whim.  Andrea? Turley, a girl from the 5th ward before it split into the 10th, was behind the counter, and when I asked if they were hiring and she took me into the back I ran into Elder Ballard (Steve?), an AP from my mission.  They were looking for a mixer, and they both gave me good references.  The bosses were Val someone, who was really cool, and Curtis Heaton, who was a little harder to like.  Val gave me a job on the spot.  The pay was I think $8.25 an hour.  I was the first into the store at 4AM, where I would turn on the oven, and start mixing up the doughs for the day.  Lots of good stuff.  The guys were mixers, and the girls did everything else.  It was sometimes hard for the girls to move sixty pound bags of flour and 90 pounds mixing bowls of dough.  I wasn't great at it.  I'd lose track of measurements.  They tried me out baking, and I'd space timing and sometimes I'd miss the baking tray as it spun around.  That meant it would go a couple minutes too long.  They'd be a little over done.  Not bad, but it's all about consistancy in a bakery like that.  So they moved me off mixing, and I did customer service.  Not as interesting.  They didn't fire people.  They just gave them fewer and fewer hours till they quit.  And I did eventually, because I couldn't afford to work there any more.

Deck Builder, 21 (or 22?) - The deck on the cabin collapsed under a big snow load that year, so Mom and Dad wanted something new for the family reunion.  I read a lot of books, designed it, and (over) built it with dad that summer.  My first real-ish construction experience.  I don't remember what they paid me.  Maybe $8.00 an hour.

Cell Phone Salesman, 22 or 23? - I got this job through Mace Johnson.  Diamond Wireless, in the Pinecrest Shopping Village on 14th North in Logan.  We had to work a shift in the store each week, but mostly it was what I think is called "outside sales".  We got paid totally on commission.  I think we made $40 or $50 on each plan sale.  We sold for Verizon wireless, but we weren't the factory store, so that was kind of weird.  Sales sales sales.  I could sell, but mostly I felt guilty when I did, because I really didn't believe in the product.  Cell phones were just becoming the thing, but I didn't think they were really a good thing for most people.  People were using them as fashion, and I didn't think they would fullfil the lifestyle promise they dangled.  Now everyone spends $100+ a month on smart phones, and I still don't think they are necessarily good for people.  I have a prepaid cell phone myself.  I spend about $15 a month.  I spent the whole summer working there.  I never really liked it much.

Unpaid Intern, 23 - I did an internship with one of my tech writing professors.  I didn't get paid.  I also didn't learn much.  I also wasn't very usefull to they guy.  Probably a good thing I wasn't getting paid.

Rock Wall Builder 23? - Mom wanted a rock wall where the rock garden was between the terraces.  So I read a bunch of books and designed something for her, and did a mock up with photoshop.  And they gave me the job.  I ended up spending almost the whole summer digging the foundation.  It was a huge amount of excavation, and doing it by hand alone was insane.  They wasted a ton of money paying me to dig and dig and dig with a hammer and crowbar, a mattock and shovel.  It took forever because it turns out that it was part of the old course of Spring Creek, and the ground was packed with river rock.  In the end Dad and I built the wall out of block, and faced it with stones we dug out of the foundation and split there in the yard.  I wasn't super pleased with the top cap.  It was too slumpy.  I wish I'd made a better mold.  They paid me $8 an hour again.

Parts Picker, 23? - When I graduated with my degree in tech writing I couldn't get a job to save my life.  I remember talking to Peter about it, asking his advice on how to deal with the rejection.  He said he didn't know, because he'd never failed to get a job he'd applied for.  Awesome.  I had committed to move into a house with Mark LaRocco and Devin Healey in Logan, and I didn't have any money to pay rent.  It was terrifying, and I needed to make some cash.  So I went to Don Pence, who was in charge of shipping for Proform, or whatever the exercise machine company is called now, and asked for a job.  He gave it to me.  Minimum wage, $7.25, right out of college.  I was amazingly stressed and super anxious.  Then the night I moved into the house I had the biggest anxiety attack of my life.  I spent the next week lying on my back on Mom and Dad's couch.  The anxiety attack never abated, until the fifth day when I was proscribed Xanax for the first time.  Like magic.  It was good for about thirty minutes of sleep at a time.  On the eighth day I went back to the house and spent my first night there.  I didn't sleep for the first five days of that anxiety attack, didn't drink anything for the first three days, and didn't eat for seven.  I lost 25 pounds.  And I never showed up for my first day of work.  So did I really have the job?

Substitute Teacher, 23-25 - I started substitute teaching because I had kind of been interested in teaching forever, but avoided it as a major because I was afraid I wouldn't make enough money to support a family.  Now I wasn't married and I didn't have prospects and I kind of felt like maybe it was a mistake not to consider it in the first place anyway.  So I gave substitute teaching a go.  And I liked it a lot.  They paid us I think $45 a day.  Doesn't seem really good.  Can that be right?  That's like $5.65.  Jeez.

Sprint PCS Customer Service, 25-26 - Going to the phones.  It's the old standby in Logan.  Chad Rawlinson and Mark LaRocco were working at Convergy's and the money wasn't bad.  $8.25 an hour, plus little bonuses for sales.  I made a fair amount on sales.  It was all pretty underhanded stuff.  Again I felt like I was fooling people into buying stuff they didn't need.  And I was really decieving them this time.  These were the "Clear Pay" customers, which is to say people with credit so bad no one else would give them a phone plan.  They had a $125 credit limit on their accounts, which they were constantly bumping up against.  So their phones would get cut off and they'd call us furious that they couldn't make calls.  We'd tell them if they made a small payment to get themselves under the $125 limit we could get their phones on and we'd even throw in free internet service for a month.  We'd get the commission, and they would forget to cancel it before they'd get charged the next month, which would take them over the limit, and they'd call back furious.  And we'd give them a free month of texting, and take the commision on it.  Clever, huh?  I was good at talking people into it, and unlike a lot of the people I'd even tell the customer that they would have to pay for it after the first month.  That's what made me feel like I could actually deal with working there.

Web Designer, 26 - I did a page for Josh and Joe Chambers' law practice.  I don't think it ever saw the light of day.  It was pretty basic.  The web was really changing right then.  I was doing what I could with basic Dreamweaver knowledge, but the fact of the matter was that there were a lot of new services coming out then that were offering web hosting and basic web templates that would have been comparable to what I gave them.  In the end I don't think they used either option.  At that point I was looking for teaching jobs anyway, and I wasn't that into it.

Rock Wall Builder Part 2, 27 - After Mom and Dad got back from their first mission in Brazil, Mom wanted the other side of the terrace done in a rock wall.  So Dad and I did it.  This time they paid Mike Cooper to come in and excavate it and lay the foundation.  What took me almost a whole summer took him an afternoon.  The rest was pretty much the same, but we worked faster and did it better.  I think it is a much more attractive wall too.  I think they were paying $8 an hour again, but as often as not I didn't collect.  I didn't need the money, and I liked feeling like I was giving something back to my parents.

High School Teacher, 26-32 - I applied for about 12 teaching jobs, interviewed for about maybe 10.  I had soft offers from three other schools.  One was a middle school in Afton Wyoming.  I didn't want to live in Afton Wyoming.  I thought the chances of finding someone to marry in Afton Wyoming was about 0.000%  Another offer was from a high school in Knab Utah.  Same problem.  You don't move to Knab unless you have a family and you're settling down.  The other was from a kind of American fundementalist charter school in Salem Utah.  So besides the lack of where-withall, I'm pretty sure I'd be really out of place there.  These fundementalist charters are really springing up in Utah right now.  I don't get it, but it seems like they can't go straight up Mormon, so they go with the thing they worship almost as much, The American Revolution.  Why has it become so popular and romanticized around here?  It's not even the constitution they like.  It's the patriotism.  It's just weird to me.  Especially considering the Mormon church ran away from the United States to what was Mexico with angry mobs at their backs.  It was just our luck that the United States caught up with us.  Anyway, I spent five years at EHHS earning the princely sum of $28,000 a year.  I started at $27,500 and got bumped up to $28,000 after the first year.  We all stopped getting raises that year.  The pay stayed the same for the next four.  Not bad for a single guy, but around the bottom of the pay scale for full time high school teachers.  I taught English classes for all grades but the freshmen, and after the first year I took over yearbook and the media center.  But that's over now.

So.  What's next?

Before and After...

Before:

My first bike.  A 2007 (or 2008?) Suzuki GZ250.  I'm not sure why I decided I wanted to start riding motorcycles.  I think it was about the gas mileage.  

I bought the bike from an ex-BYU Idaho Public Health professor who was dying of bone cancer.  It was priced way under Blue Book.  $1700?  I think.  I bought it in December 2010, and went up to Cache Valley to learn to ride from Mike Forsberg every other weekend or so.  

I got my licence in February and rode it back to Salt Lake in the second week of that month.  It was the first time I'd been on the highway.  First time I'd gone over 35 mph.  I left Cache Valley at dusk, Mark LaRocco following me in my car as I pushed it to its limit up Wellsville Canyon.  I couldn't do the speed limit.  And I knew I had no chance of making it on the freeway.  I rode in a hoodie, my rainbow vest, mittens and a half-helmet.  Coldest ride of my life.

I rode the bike almost every day, even through the winter.  When I sold it to one of my students from East Hollywood in May of 2012 I'd put, I think five and a half thousand miles on it.  I sold it because it really just couldn't hack it on the freeway.  I'd ride down I-15, and merge onto the 21st South freeway every day on my way to work, and back the same way.  There were so many close calls at the merge with careless drivers coming from I-80.  At 65mph there was no acceleration left, so those close calls involved me slamming the brakes and hoping there was space behind the careless merger.  It was a terrifying affair.  I'd always end up frantically going for the horn, but I'd only end up hitting the lights.  It didn't matter if I did get the horn, because at freeway speeds not even I could hear it.

There was one time in the spring when I was feeling good, returning from work.  I'd come off the entrance at 32nd West onto the 201.  I had the accelerator pegged, coming over that small hill after the entrance to I-215.  I felt like I was flying.  And right at the top of the hill I looked to my right and saw a cop pointing his speed laser right at me.  My right wrist was cranked, and I knew in that instant I was had.  Then I looked at the speedometer and realized I was going five miles under the speed limit.  And so it went.

And so it went.  I sold it for $1700.  In the end I'd only paid for gas, insurance, a couple oil changes and filters, a bigger front sprocket and some brake pads.  Not bad.

It wasn't until I'd test ridden a bunch of other bikes looking for something new that I realized what I'd had in the little Suzi.  It was a great runner.  Smooth power band.  Light and maneuverable.  And it got 75mpg.  If only it had had a little more top end.  

After:

Bought this 2009 KLR650 in the middle of June 2012.  It was again quite a deal. Priced at $4200 it was $300 below the NADA average value, and it came with saddle bags, a collapsible trunk bag and a tank bag.  And it only had a little over 2500 miles on it.  In the spring, 09's with tens of thousands of miles were selling for up to five hundred over the NADA average without any extras.  When we were discussing price, the guy dropped his asking price to $4000 without being prompted.  He just seemed scared of riding.  Spooked.

I came back and picked it up the next day.

Unfortunately I haven't really warmed up to it.  It's tall.  Too tall really for me, although I'm relatively comfortable with it now.  But there are still moments where I have to make a short stop because of a driver trying to beat the right of way through an intersection, and I put my foot down to find the ground missing.  It doesn't take a deep gutter, or steep incline for it to be father than I can reach.  And I'm on the lowest setting on the rear shock.  

Not only that, but setting the sag so low seems to make the kickstand too long.  It is standing almost level on level ground.  Unfortunately the kick stand is on the left and roads almost all slope considerably down to the gutter.  It causes problems for parking.  I really have to push it over on the stand and hope there are no strong breezes.

And that's not the only time breezes are problematic.  It presents a copious amount of surface area to the wind when it is coming from the side.  There have been a couple times on the freeway when gusts have pushed me into the next lane at 80mph, and there was nothing I could do about it.

The freeway is a problem.  I bought the bike with ideas of long rides.  California, then maybe up the coast to Seattle.  But it only takes fifteen minutes for the vibes to numb my hands.  And twenty more for the numbness to creep into my shoulders.

But the power is good.  A little off road capability is nice.  The mileage isn't horrible if I don't push it.  I got 57.5mpg out of the last tank.  And the insurance is lower than any other 650 except maybe a DR650 or an XR650L.  So I'll stick with it.  At least until next spring. Then I might be able to sell it for a profit.  

I've already put about 1500 miles on it.

The Other Before:

This is a year of concentrated beard growing.

After:

This is five minutes of scissors and clipping.

Lost my job yesterday.

2:30 AM and I think the temp in my apartment is finally peaking. 88 degrees.  Not so much with the sleeping.

30 and More...

It's been a couple or three weeks since my birthday now. I started writing this post on my laptop while sitting in the Salt Lake Public Library, and to my horror discovered that my laptop battery is only good for about twenty minutes now. I was really frustrated by that, because I hardly ever run it on the battery. Truth to tell I just don't use it that much. Anyway, I've ordered a new battery already, but it hasn't come yet. Now I'm writing this as my 2nd period class writes about memories connected to music. We're working up to writing personal narratives.

Anyway, here is the post I was writing, then...

So, the other day I turned 30. I went to dinner with Mom and Dad at the Bombay house. While we were driving there Mom called Uncle Mark to ask him if we could come for Thanksgiving dinner. She forgot that they weren't telling people about the brain tumor yet, so that's how I found out, overhearing her talking on the phone with Mark. That wasn't a super feeling. She labored a bit to explain her confidence about the situation. It mostly had to do with the feeling that things were orchestrated devinely. I'm not as convinced.

I'm not too inclined to think that way these days. I felt very strongly that they were, before, especially as they all seemed to be around me going on my own mission. The next two years didn't offer me evidence of this and I had a hard time dealing with that for the rest of my 20's.

After dinner with Mom and Dad I went to Cache Valley, to Brady and Ondy's and we cooked. Steve and Jill Peterson, some other friends came, as well of course as Mike Foresberg. Mr. Forsberg asked me if I was depressed about turning 30. I said I wasn't. I couldn't understand why he would expect that I would be. My 20's were a bad decade. I'm glad to see them go. I have regrets, for sure, and they are the reasons that Mike spoke of for his own depression when he crossed into his 30's, no marriage, no kids, failure to make my mark on the world. But I'm better than I was in my 20's, and more likely to achieve the marriage and kids part, so I guess that's what makes me less than pessimistic about the new decade.

Unfortunately soon after we served up the food, around 11:00 Mike and Ondy fought and she threatened to kick him out. He got really hurt and left. Steve and Jill split too. The whole situation was pretty uncomfortable. Ondy went to bed and Brady got ready too. I'd planned on sleeping on their couch like Mike does each weekend, because the heat is off at Mom and Dad's house and I didn't want to shiver and wait for it to warm up.

Within half an hour Mike called me and asked what was going on. He had gone out walking around, and he continued to do so for a while then he came back and we sat on the porch and I talked to him till 3:00 AM so he wouldn't get in his car and leave. At that point we both felt ready to drive home. I got back to Salt Lake around 4:30, and slept in my own bed.

Not the best birthday, but at least I got to see some friends, for a while.

Anyway, I've had the whole week off from school and in that time I fell in love with audio books. Mostly it is an obsessive/compulsive thing. Putting them on my computer and writing the tags. It's lovely busy work, and it's always satisfying to bring order to something. So I have been doing that all week. It is fun to listen to them too as I do it.

I listened to Wyrms, by Orson Scott Card, and I didn't enjoy it as much as I did when I read it as a 14 year old. But there is some really good stuff there. There was an after word where he talked about the book. He said his books were mostly boring talk between two characters broken up by unspeakable violence. I liked that. He has some interesting stuff in this one about the nature of will. He talks about it being us. Was it President Packer who said that it is the only thing that is uniquely ours that we can give to God? Card seems to agree, and says more or less that since it is the only thing that we really have it is the only thing that can characterize us.

I listened to Geek Love, by Katherine Dunn, which was good, fun, well written, but ultimately unsatisfying.

I also listened to The Body, by Stephen King, and I liked that too. I listened to Inventing a Nation, by Gore Vidal, and although he had some good stuff I wasn't as into it.

The one that far and away I liked the most was Norwegian Wood, by Haruki Murakami. I decided to go out for a long walk on Wednesday, and I began listening to it on my mp3 player as I went out. I walked from my place up A St to about 4th ave, then down the walkway into Memory Grove Park and up the other side of the canyon to the capitol. From there I went on up to Ensign Peak...

(this is new stuff from here on out)

then back down to the Capitol Building. From there I turned left and took the ring road that goes part of the way up City Creek then curves around and goes up the other side of the canyon. From there I walked along 11th ave to F St. and walked down it to the Smiths on 5th Ave, and followed that back to A St., then from there I went down to my place. It was something like 8 miles.

But that's not important. The story was what I wanted to write about. I listened to it until it ended at about 3AM, about 12 hours after I started. At the very first I didn't really like it. The introduction in the meadow wasn't grabbing me, and then the protagonist wasn't interesting to me as he was describing going to live in the dormitory in Tokyo. But then I got it. It was almost a cosmic thing.

I was thinking about being 30 as I listened to his date with Naoko on her birthday. She seemed so depressed about turning 20. She said how lucky he was to still be 19. I thought about my teens, then my 20's. I thought about Taru, the protagonist. When I was a teenager I was so concerned about becoming someone. Then when I was in my 20's I was angry because I hadn't become anyone yet. And I was bored by Taru because he wasn't anyone as a protagonist. Who wants to be start a reading relationship with a protagonist that isn't anyone? Then it all changed. I loved that Taru wasn't anyone. I've accepted not being anyone and I'm far happier than I was in my 20's. Good riddance to them. It was a bad decade, from which I have few if any happy memories. I'm glad to see the end of them.

Then what happens between Taru and Naoko happens and all of the sudden he's someone to her. At first that pissed me off, but then I accepted that too. I can live with the idea that we are only significant to the people that we become significant to, that love gives us meaning.

Anyway, I was hooked on Taru and Naoko's story till the end. And I'm 30, and I'm ok not being anyone, even though the story made me want to become someone to somebody.

Now...

Today I don't feel like writing much about what's going on, but I haven't felt like that for a while, thus the lack of new posts. That's ok I guess. Anyway, I thought I'd put up the map of the bike ride Dad and I took a couple of weeks ago. It was really pretty nice. It had been rainy, but we went out anyway and started in Richmond, riding up to Cove, then over to Cornish, down to Trenton, and back to our point of origin in Richmond. It was 26 miles, and I have to say, since in the last post I lamented Dad's mortality, he didn't have any problem riding the miles away. And it didn't rain on us. That was nice.

Sitting At Home, Watching Conference...

I'm in Providence with Mom and Dad, watching the last session of Conference. It's been good I suppose. We'd planned to go up to the cabin this weekend, but we didn't because of the weather. It's been a kind of a rainy, blustering weekend.

I spent the evening last night with Mr. Foresberg, Brady and Ondy, and Steve, whose last name I don't know, at Brady and Ondy's new house. The house isn't new, but they've just bought it. It's in a nice neighborhood east of the University. I really like the back yard. I guess I like the whole house, except the kitchen, which seems like an afterthought, very small. I don't think that is going to work in the long run for Brady, who is a fantastic cook. Maybe it just isn't going to work for me at Brady and Ondy's. One of my favorite things to do with them is cook, and that kitchen isn't big enough for more than one person to work in. So, I'll set them to fixing it up for me. Now, laugh at my hubris.

Yesterday I tried to fix the clutch pedal ignition switch problem in my car. It has been working poorly for a while, which has resulted in me parking the car on a hill about half a mile away from my apartment so I could start it by compression the switch wasn't working. I drive relatively rarely, so it sat on the hill for several days without moving. I found a note under the windshield wiper last night that had been placed there several days ago. Someone was trying to protect their turf. They wrote for me to "please park somewhere else all day! Because there isn't enough parking up (there)." I kind of feel like parking it there again when I go home even though it is running fine now, with a new note under the window politely telling them where they can park their cars. That means hell. Laugh again at my hubris.

Anyway, the car is fixed. Dad suggested that we could use his volt meter to verify that depressing the button complets the circuit, allowing the starter to draw power. It did, so I just cut the wires and tried to strip the sheathing and twist them together to bypass the switch. But I couldn't get the sheathing off. Eventually I gave up and went in. I fell asleep in frustration on the couch, and as I covertly hoped he would, Dad went out and fixed it.

I'm a little surprised that I never guessed that I am ADD before I was diagnosed a couple years ago. I fool myself sometimes into thinking that I bring something that he lacks when we work together on projects. But mostly it is just obvious that he is the one who fulfills the circuit when I can't do it, like he did this time. I woke up when he came in after finishing. It's working consistantly so far. Dad's getting older though, and I can't help aknowledging to myself that when he's gone, and it could be sooner rather than later, I'll be somewhat at loose ends. But at the least my car is running right now.

Still in My Room...

Well it's been a week and I'm still in my room. My principal talked to the registrar and she pointed out that we were going to have to hire a geography teacher part time next trimester and another part time health teacher since one is going to be out on maternity leave. The result being that even if they moved me over to the crappy room there wouldn't be room for the new people next trimester. The upshot is that special ed is cleaning out one of the store rooms. I'm not counting on anything, but I've got my fingers crossed that it's all over. At least for this year.

Mr. Foresberg came down and tried to help me out with my car. We started by cleaning the posts on the battery, then replacing the bad clamp. It still wouldn't start so he looked for the solenoid, and found it in a ridiculously inaccessible area. Having done so we jacked it up with the piddley little tire replacement jack and wedged a box of books under it in case the jack turned out to be as unstable as it seemed. He still couldn't get to it so we took off the wheel. By this time it was dark and he was working with a headlamp, and still it foiled him, so we put the wheel on cleaned up the tools and push started it again with the plan of me driving up to Cache Valley for a more thourough going over on the weekend.

We parked it on a hill on A street, and I left it for a couple of days. But as I was getting ready to go online and try to get a solenoid I saw the switch that doesn't allow the starter to draw if the clutch isn't depressed. I decided I was going to monkey around with that just to see before I bought the solenoid, so when I went home yesterday I walked up to the hill and did so. It started like a dream. I turned it off and started it again. I drove down around the corner, pulled to the side and shut it off, then tried to start it again. It wouldn't, so I got under the dash and played with the switch again and it started. Then I drove around some more and smoke started to come out of the hood.

That worried me so I called Mike again and told him the good and the bad. He told me to check my oil levels and add some if any had leaked. I drove the car to school this morning and there was no smoke, so I think it may be ok. At least for now. I think I'm probably just going to try to find something that permanently holds the button on that switch down. Or if I got ambitious I'll spend the $22 and buy a new one to replace it. Who knows. But if I get take out tonight it will be at a place closer to home than Curry in a Hurry.

The Fateful Day...

Friday after school my principal pulled me aside with the social studies teacher and told us that they'd tried to make it work, but one of us was going to have to move over into the worst room in the school so the special ed teacher could have my room. He avoided the issue by telling us we could decide among ourselves which one of us would move. My face immediately turned into a wooden smile. I hate this.

Later that day I went to Curry in a Hurry for some dinner, and when I came out my car wouldn't start. I was instantly panicked, but calmed down relatively quickly. I called Mr. Foresberg and he said to try to loosen the clamps on the battery posts and get some of the lead off, then I might be able to get a jump. I had no tools so I pounded on the clamp, trying to jiggle it. Finishing that, but accomplishing nothing, I asked everyone at the restaurant over the course of a half hour if they could give me a jump, but to no avail. I was a little resentful, as I started calling everyone I knew in the Salt Lake area. Two calls later I was done, and still out of luck, so I ate my curry in the car, locked up, and started walking home up State St.

After about a mile I got to a bus stop and a fellow was there waiting. I asked him if the bus was going to be along soon, and he said it must because he'd been waiting for about 45 minutes. Then he asked me if I had a phone so he could call a cab, and without even thinking about it I lied and said I didn't. I walked away, and felt instantaneously like a totally hypocritical jerk. I'd been miffed because no one could help me, and I could help this guy but I wouldn't. Then the bus came by and stopped for me, even though I wasn't at the stop. It waited for me to run up and when I got on the guy was there and he nodded. I think he told the driver I needed to get on.

The next day my home teacher called and I asked him if he could go out there and try to jump it with me. We bought some jumper cables and a new set of clamps for the battery posts. But it wouldn't jump. He called his dad and he said it was probably the solenoid. That was discouraging, but we were able to start it by compression and I got home and parked it. Mr. Foresberg is going to come down and try to help me fix it, which is super nice of him.

So I was back on my bike this morning and I got a bug in my eye. I wiped at it a lot then during lunch I wiped at it again and found the bug's carcass on my finger tip. It was weird and kind of gross.

I should get back to work...

Sitting in the Dark...

We're almost through with our second week of school. The first week was rough. I though I might be looking for a job, but I had a good talk with my principal and things look like they're probably going to turn out ok. He was very understanding, which I wasn't expecting at all.

So, now I'm sitting in the dark in the library, which I will very likely be moving out of in the next week. Faculty meeting is over, and I think I'm more or less alone in the building. I was trying to get a new version of Windows Media Player installed on the circulation computer so I could synch my mp3 player and load a couple of audio books I downloaded from the Salt Lake City Library page. But there seem to be redundant layers of protection on them and if there's a way that I can get through our system's security, and the security on the files, and get them to agree that neither one is going to shank the other in the back on the way to my ears, I can't figure it out.

I no longer have internet access at home, so I'm doing things like this after school. That means until I have a new place of my own with my own connection, posts will be scarce.

About buying a house... As I was afraid of losing my job these last two weeks, I kind of dropped off of looking, but I guess I'm on again. But as the summer has come to a close the houses coming to market are in worse shape and worse locations. I think I may have missed my window.

I never posted about it, but the house on 13th East that I liked came back on the market and I made an offer on it about a month ago. We didn't hear back on it from the selling agent by the time I had set for the end of the validity of the offer. Rich kept calling the agent but never got any reply. Eventually a week after the offer was supposed to go cold, Rich got a hold of the selling agent's office. They said the selling agent went out of town on vacation the day my offer went in, and they didn't know when he'd come back. We've never hear anything more.

I don't think selling agents actually care about selling houses in my price range. Rich says many of them won't even list them because the stakes are so low. I'm frustrated by the situation.

We did finally hear back from the selling agent on the house on 4th East. He said that I was still the highest offer even though it has gone to short sale. They think if I would pay $120,000 the sellers and the bank would go for it. That was very useful. It was a number slightly higher than the asking price I think. Even after that I'd have to replace the roof, trusses and all, and I don't like the neighborhood that much. It's about as low quality as the east side downtown gets.

I'm starting to think more and more about trying to build a house myself. Could it be any harder than trying to get someone to sell me one?

The No Place Like Home Blues...

I'm having a bit of a Job week. That is to say that everything seems to be going wrong and I am feeling quite sorry for myself.

I was kind of bummed because the agents for the sellers of the house upon which I had made an offer had seemed to blow my offer off. It was significantly under the asking price. The frustrating thing was that my agent couldn't get ahold of the seller's agency. They had three different numbers and none of them were picking up when we called, and they hadn't returned any of the messages.

Rich seems to be losing heart in the search. If he spends many more hours he isn't going to have made much when the commission comes. I was ready to buy the house that I had decided on as a backup if the summer wanned and I hadn't found a house I really wanted. The asking price was only $49,000 and he didn't seem to want to move on it (presumambly because depending on how he values his time he might have actually come out behind on that commission.) Anyway, while he didn't talk to me about it it sold. So now I was without even a backup.

Then, this last Friday the 72 year old front office secratary who is going to be in the library during the 3 periods I'm teaching English and Yearbook this school year, called to say that she wanted to move her stuff in, but she thought that we should move the furniture around a little. I said that would probably be fine, but I wanted to come in and look at what she wanted to do. She handed me off to my Principal who said that he wanted to talk to me about my room. He asked me if I got his email and I said I hadn't. The nice folks who were providing my internet access moved away, and I'm not going to get my own connection since it is my sincere desire to move from here as soon as possible. I told my Principal that I was going to be coming in to look at the library with Ginger and he said he'd talk with me then.

As I was riding my bike in I got run off the road by a careless semi driver. I ended up riding hard into a sewer grate that popped my tire, and I had to walk the last two miles in my flip-flops, which rubbed holes in my feet. I got to school and told my Principal about it and he commiserated and proceeded to tell me that the Special Ed department wanted my room and he was going to move me to the worst room in the school to let them have it. This room is impossible to teach in. I know because it was my room the first year I was there. This was horribly, horribly dissappointing. This is especially so since after my first year he promised me a nice room next to the other English teacher with a wall of windows, then forgot and gave it to a new Social Studies teacher. I had to settle for the room across the hall, with no windows, and bad heat and air conditioning. Still it was a huge improvement over my other room, and I settled in. So, it is a great irony that I am now being kicked out of it and banished to what feels like nothing less than a gulag in Siberia.

I tried to convince him to give me the room I'd originally been promised after my first year, and send the new Social Studies teacher (the guy from the beginning of the year got fired (the Principal seems to fire or pressure out anyone who rubs him wrong, so that each year I've worked there we've had about a 30% turn over in the staff.)) over there. I don't think he bought it though. I thought I had him until he realized I was only going to be in that classroom for two periods per day. Anyway, it just kind of sucks.

So after all that I went into the library with the secretary and she told me that basically she wanted to make everything like it was before I'd changed everything when I moved into the library at the end of last year. I explained why I'd made the changes that I had, to try to improve the discipline in the library. As it was, the library was a place to go to avoid class. I was pretty adamant that it become a place of order. She more or less called me a tyrant and wondered why couldn't I just let her have it her way, and when I didn't relent she began crying a little.

I talked quickly and kept her talking, and eventually it came out that what she wanted was just to have a desk space that was hers and hers alone. The way I had it we were going to be using the same desk. She wanted a place that was her own where she could put her stuffed animals and her paper weights and her tape dispenser, and by implication, and place where she could root her identity. In the end that was why she was there. It wasn't becuase she needed the money. Working where she does, doing what she is doing is a statment of identity and purpose for which to live. Eventually we compromised by me setting up desks for us both at the front of the library.

And it came to me that that was exactly why I was having such a hard time. Things have been going worse and worse with my apartment to the point that I kind of feel like my place isn't here anymore. That's why I started looking for a house. I wanted a place that was mine, and could be a representation and even maybe a part of me. But it seemed with all these setbacks almost like a voice saying, "You see yourself here? No, you can't live here. Oh, your marginally interested in this place? No, here's a crap place in a bad neighborhood that doesn't meet your expectations or needs."

Now the same thing was happening at school. I was getting kicked out of my room and given the worst piece of real estate in the building, and I was being edged out a little in the library too.

The upshot of it was that I saw then that they house that I had been most interested in of all that I saw was still on the market. It's the house on 13th East in the gully with the south facing wall of windows. I called the only contractor I know in Salt Lake (one of the teachers who took his leave from the school after my first year), and tried to get him or one of his guys to go look at it with me. It was still on the market I assumed because it was in really rough shape, and I wanted his opinion on whether I could afford it with repairs. The thing was that he took a long time getting back to me. Finally this Sunday in the middle of the night I woke up and decided I was going to make an offer on it no matter what.

Remember how my internet is gone? When I went to the library and got my email there was one from Rich saying the seller's agent on the house I had offered on had finally gotten back to him and that my offer was the highest, but still not enough for the seller to cover their debt. As a result it was going into short sale and I could re-offer when the bank took over, and find out in six months whether I got it. Also, the house on 13th East was sold.

So, I've been feeling sorry for myself, and trying to fix my bike, which I might have broken more while trying to fix. At the least I've ruined $15 in parts. Whatever. I'm going to go get some more and keep at it.

Butterfield Canyon...

A couple of weeks ago Mr. Forsberg, The Incestuous Mr. and Ms. Doherty (Foresberg joke), and I went for a walk from the summit of Butterfield Canyon toward the overlook of the Great Big Hole in the Ground. We started late and had to turn back before we reached our destination, but walking up in the sunset and down in the twilight was really, really pretty. Here are a couple of videos.

Going Up...

Coming Down...

The Next House...

I made an offer on another house. If you follow the link you'll see the listing with pictures. It looks neat from the outside, but inside is truly horrendous. It was being rented, and the renter just split. As Rich and I were looking around we found a note from the owner saying, "Hey, I'm assuming you've left because you haven't paid any rent for a while, but please get in contact with me."

We also found blood smears on the ground next to the stairs down to the cellar and in the cellar a couple of planters with a sunlamp. I wonder what he was growing next to the furnace. Anyway, we kept looking around and found that the source of the terrible smell was two fold. There was a little surprise in the toilet, and a dirty diaper on an entertainment center in the master bedroom. I was in the living room and heard a bump in the kitchen, and I thought someone might be there, but decided it was probably a rat in the cabinet.

A little more searching found a bench warrant for the renter, and it all came together. Anyway, the roof is bad. Its really bad. It will have to be replaced. There were three different places where the ceiling had fallen in because of water damage. Also, there looks to be some water seepage in the cellar stairs. But aside from that, the foundation looks pretty good, and the walls are straight, which is better than I could say for most of the other places I've seen this age, and the yard has some real potential. The kitchen has been re-done, and and the exterior paint, although cracking now was really elaborate. Also, there is some cement work with individual colored tiles. The front fence is really nice, and there are landscaped planters in place of a tree lawn. It looks like the owners put a lot into the place before they started renting it.

The offer I made is significantly lower than the asking price, and though like the other house I offered on, I'm not super excited about the place, if I get it for this price it will be too good a deal to pass up.

We put it in the contract that the seller's got to get rid of all the renter's crap. I hope he does. Literally.

No House for Me...

A couple of days ago the lady who was representing the sellers on the house called up and said that they had higher offers. I was a little confused because I thought she had told us my offer had been accepted. Actually I think she was confused, or maybe duplicitous, and told me wrong. She said everyone got one more final bid, and I raised mine by $6,500, but apparently I got outbid by about $6000 more. That meant the house went for $112, 500. That's still a pretty good price, and I probably would have paid it if they had just been upfront. The only reason that I can figure out that she would have dealt with it this way is if she was really incompetent (the asking price was way too low), or because she wanted to impress the seller by how much over the asking price she could get.

Either way it kind of sucks, because that's two weeks of my rapidly dwindling summer wasted while I waited around for this to work. Not to mention that emotionally it is just a big disappointment. I know that I wasn't that excited about the house anyway, but emotionally I was already kind of moving myself out of here, and down there. The whole thing just kind of sucks. It has driven me to start watching The O.C. on hulu. That's kind of like the bad tv equivalent of drinking. I hope she knows what she's done to me.