Photo Friday: Buttons

Oh, I know. You thought I'd forgotten about Photo Friday. Well, you're wrong, sucker!

This week's theme was buttons. I decided to share with you my swanky shirt, complete with super swanky buttons. If this is wrong, I don't wanna be right.

I Smell Like Drywall Screws

When your wall isn't dry, just add drywall! Thanks to our recent septic invasion, some drywall in our finished basement had to be fixed.

Step one: Take out the wet drywall. Thanks to the new hole in the wall, our cats had to be sequestered upstairs. This is because I could just see our cats trying to explore the wall. I did not like the thought of them getting caught in the wall (I knew it would be Shelly. One time she managed to wedge herself in the box spring of a mattress. This time, it would be something to the effect of "Shelly, knock 3 times so momma knows where you are!") The cats did not appear to mind the lack of access to the downstairs. However, I was not excited about having to move their litterboxes upstairs into our bathroom. This increased my motivation to get the wall fixed.


Step two: Make the hole even bigger! I was extra cautious and shut off the power to the area. I knew I'd have to be wrangling around an open outlet box. Plus, I wasn't sure exactly where the wires were in the wall.


Step 3: Fill the hole with more drywall. Yes, the drywall is green. I opted for Greenboard. I don't think it's any more environmentally friendly than regular drywall, but it is marketed as moisture-resistant. I hope to not have any more septic dysfunction, but I figured for the extra 3 bucks, I'd go with the green stuff. Despite the fun appearance of having a chalkboard on the bottom of the wall, I will follow up with taping, mudding, primer, and a coat of paint.


As you can see, a good time was had by all.

Poised to Flush

I know you've all been waiting with bated breath (what the hell is that, anyway? maybe I should substitute the phrase "bait breath") for word of our septic status.

First, let me say that it's not good when a plumber rattles off a list of things that are wrong with your septic system. At the same time, when you've cleaned up septic backflow in your basement, you just want things to get fixed. The plumber was here two days in a row, and at one point there were two plumbers. Basically, whoever hooked up our septic system took a number of sloppy shortcuts, which had to be redone in a more standard, code-meeting fashion. We also ended up with a rather unattractive service box sticking out of our lawn. I am now accepting nominations for ideas on how to hide the box.

The dogs do not seem concerned about how much this is going to cost.

Speaking in Code

Yesterday I entered the vortex known as small town municipal government.
As I mentioned in my previous post, we are in the midst of septic malaise. Here are some phrases that have been muttered recently, in regards to our septic system:
"I'm sorry Ray did a half-ass job on your tank"
"You need to have your tank pumped immediately."
"That's not supposed to be there"
"The plumber shouldn't have told you to do that. That's a fire hazard."

You can see how it's going so far. I won't bore you with the smelly details, but I will say that I provided the new plumber with a two-page timeline of our septic troubles of the past few days.

One of my tasks is to obtain the septic design for our house. The Septic Pumping guy said that I could obtain the paperwork from our town hall. It would have had to be approved before installation, and they have to keep a copy.

So I went to our local town hall yesterday. Here's how it went down:
I go to the counter, and tell them I need a copy of the septic design for our house. "Oh, you'll have to talk to Dottie," the woman at the counter says, and points down a hallway. I could only assume that's where Dottie's office was. So I go over to Dottie's office and explain my situation. She has one of those throat microphone things (I don't know what they're called, but when I googled "throat microphone" I got some weird hits) that she has to hold to her throat every time she talked. It wasn't too hard to understand, but I really had to pay attention. Anyway, she went off into an adjoining room and started digging through paperwork. "I don't have anything," she said in the mechanical voice. "Let's go to the code office."

Let me say that it would be hard to imagine more code violations than I saw in the Code Enforcement office. Apparently the enforcement happens outside the walls. There was one spot where there clearly used to be a wall, and whoever took the wall down neglected to fill in the floor where the wall used to be. The electrical wire for the light switch was just stapled to the wall. It wasn't in the wall, or even in any sort of conduit. Exposed wiring abounded.

Anyway, Dottie had managed to find our lot map number, which unfortunately was of no use to the woman working in the code office. Of course when I say "office," I use that term loosely. It was more like a hallway and a former closet that had two desks in it. She couldn't find anything in the computer, and the filing "system" consisted of a giant pile of paperwork on the floor. Some of the paperwork was from 1983. Some was from 2005. This was not looking good. The woman told Dottie to look with "the yellow papers," because some of the septic plans were filed with them. Sounds like a really top-notch system they've got going on. What I gleaned from the chaos was that the previous code enforcement officer (who is shared between about 5 towns, since we're in a small town) wasn't exactly dilligent about filing. Or anything. And of course our plans would have been filed during his tenure. Anyway, Dottie and I went back to here office, where she proceeded to look again, and of course nothing turned up. We went BACK to the code office, where I got the number of the state wastewater management office. If you recall my last interaction with a state office, you'll know I was not optimistic.

Somewhere in all of this, Dottie was able to find some paperwork that was submitted for our plumbing application. This wasn't what I needed, but she thought that the septic design might have been done around the same time, and maybe that would help the state office find it. She was nice enough to make me a copy. While she was doing that, a woman who was apparently in charge of answering phones got a call. She had on what I'd call Giant Old Lady Glasses, and one of the lenses was covered with a patch. I am not trying to make fun of anyone's physical disability, temporary or otherwise, but dear lord this woman seemed to make up for her visual impairment by yelling. So she yells over to Dottie (who is about 5 feet away at the copier, and clearly trying to help me) "you have a phone call! Do you want to take it right know!!!!" (I know this is a question, but she really was yelling, and I thought that the exclamation points would be more appropriate to convey the voice modulation problems). So Dottie has to yell back (as best she can with her throat microphone) that she was helping me, and to just transfer the call to her office. Dottie gave me the paperwork (it was a copy of a carbon copy, so let's just say there wasn't much legible information) and sent me on my way. I know that she was doing all she could to help, but I was so very frustrated by the fact that something fairly simple (getting a copy of paperwork) would take an hour, and I still wouldn't have what I needed.

I got to work and called the state office. No one answered, and I left a message. Ditto for later in the afternoon. I called back this morning, and no answer. What is going on at the Wastewater Office? Does anybody actually work there? Do they not care about the fact that we're on a strict "if it's yellow, let it mellow" flush policy right now?

It's going to get worse before it gets better

If only Blogger had Smell-O-Vision, you would be in for one wild ride.

However, they do not, and I get to experience the joys of septic failure myself. I won't go into great detail at the moment, but let's just say our toilet is out in the backyard right now, and I spent a lot of quality time with the wet vac last night. Oh, and I'm home waiting for the plumber/septic guy to show up. Yeah, Smell-O-Vision would have been too much.

I'm trying to remind myself that this could have been much, much worse. Unfortunately the stench that is emanating from the downstairs is blocking out the optimistic receptors in my brain, and I am left to curse whoever installed our septic system and our piece of crap (ha ha!) pump. Oh, the tales I will be able to tell!

Grout-tastic

You know that your night has been well spent when you end up with grout all over your knees.

I present to you the before and after pictures from my kitchen tile repair. I did not photograph the barrier I created with cardboard to keep the cats and dogs off the tile while it cured, but I assure you it was spectacular.

Before:
And after:


Now that I've done this, I'm going to be like a grout-crazed crackhead, running around the house fixing grout. Good times.

It's like syncronized swimming in the sky

In prinicpal, I am fully aware that government-sponsored airshows are a waste of money, resources, and are a shameless recruiting tool. However, I must admit that they're also pretty cool. If you can suspend the negative feelings for a bit, it's easy to be impressed by the skill and precision required to fly a plane 18 inches from another plane. Oh, and while upside down at 700 miles an hour. I'm not sure how this benefits society, but it was a swell sight nonetheless.

It also helped to have a kickass vantage point...
For those of you with decent internet connections, I also have some video. I will note that my undisclosed location was a bit windy, and that I was using a digital camera, so please pardon the shakes and periodic out-of-focus moments. I prefer to think that those just add to the video. Or something like that.

Photo Friday: Light

This week's theme is light. Taking a picture at night is always challenging, and this one didn't come out exactly as I'd anticipated. However, it is pleasantly creepy.

Smelt Shack Scramble: The Movie

Okay, so it's more like a little video clip, but still, you can't go wrong with a shack on wheels.
If you missed my previous post, you can learn more about the smelt shack race here.

And now for the feature presentation:

My Saturday, by Sarah

Yesterday I did the following things:

• Stirred the doggie septic system. This is about as pleasant as it sounds. Our system is experiencing a slight slowdown, which necessitates a daily stirring and watering.
• Cleaned up all the dog crap in the yard. Since the doggie septic system is still on the mend, I can't add any "new" deposits, so I have to go back to picking up crap in a pail.
  
• Cleaned the litter boxes. Always a good time.
• Stirred up the compost in the compost pile and added some water.
• Shopped for laminate flooring.
• Watched a smelt shack race.

I took pictures of one of the above activities. Lucky for you, this was one of the events that did not involve crap or stirring. Or stirring crap.

You see, every year our town has a little festival, with activities like a skillet toss contest and a smelt shack race. I was disappointed to miss the skillet toss (I was going to enter this year), but we did make it for the smelt shack race. The smelt shacks (for those of you urban dwellers or those not in Maine, when the ice freezes over on a lake or river, the smelt shacks appear. People setup colonies of shacks, and spent all day ice fishing).

For your reference, here is a photo of an ice fishing "neighborhood" on a local river:
Here's what happens when you put a couple of these babies on wheels:

Above you can see the two shacks at the starting line. The shacks have been modified with wheels. I think in the past the teams actually had to carry the shacks, and I heard that people would get injured. Hence the ambulance nearby...

Anyway, the "rules" (and I use that term very loosely) seemed to be: One person has to be in the shack at all times. The team had to run the shack up the road and pickup a bucket of wood. Then they came to the "break station" (a bucket of water) and one team member would have to chuck what appeared to be about 16 ounces of water while other shifted places.
It was all very interesting.

Check back in a couple days...I'll upload the video from work (faster connection) for your enjoyment and/or bewilderment.

I Can't Drive...37

No, I am not a geriatric Sammy Hagar. Rather, I have a special request for those of you who drive an vehicle with an automatic transmission.

Don't drive 37 miles per hour. It makes me crazy. You see, 37 mph is the never-never land between 3rd and 4th gear, and I get very angry when following someone at this speed. If I get stuck behind you, I start off all optimistic and put it in 4th gear. Now we're cruising! But wait! No! 3rd gear! Oh, now we're speeding up a bit! Can we hit 39? Back to 4th! Oh, crap, you thought you saw someone hit their brakes 8 miles ahead and you're slowing down! Back to 3rd!

Just commit and drive 40 miles per hour. Please?

For 50 cents more you can get a barrel of soda!

Today we went to the movie theater to see The Simpsons Movie (pretty good...kind of like a really long Simpsons episode). I didn't remember the last time we'd gone to the movies, much less the last time we ever purchased a beverage or snack. Typically we'll stop by CVS or something on the way if we want a snack for the movie (contraband!). Anyway, once we'd gotten our seats, Brooke sent me off for a small Sprite. I decided to get a small Coke. The stereotypically awkward teenager at the counter informed me that for just 50 cents more, I could make it a medium. I'm glad that I didn't. Really glad. When I saw the enormous cup that was passing as a small, my jaw may have actually dropped. I laughed to myself as I walked back into the theater. Now, at first glance, the cup may not seem THAT gigantic:


However, I believe the view from above really puts it into perspective:



I think if I'd opted to go for the Medium, they'd have to throw in a free snorkel.

Photo Friday: Show and Tell

My latest project has been painting the fascia boards and soffits around our house. This is made less tedious by listening to music. I looked at the stack of CDs I'd listened to throughout the day, and sensed a theme: primarily loud and angry. Well, with the exception of Moby, perhaps. But who doesn't want to listen to a bald white vegan while climbing up and down a ladder all day?