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wator heator

It’s not my pilot light or the thermocouple. I’m not getting any gas at all. It’s probably the gas pipe itself. To avoid blowing myself up or calling the plumber unnecessarily, I schedule an appointment with the Gas Company. This requires that I remain in the house from 7 am to possibly 8 pm tomorrow. (Waiting for the Electrician or Someone Like Him, etc)

I figured this was the best policy since the gas company here are safety maniacs and will give me good advice so as to avoid cheatr plumrs.

It’s funny. In our household the shorthand term for a sudden expensive disaster is “water heater.”

Moon over unincorporated areas of Anaheim

The full moon probably does cause more crimes and craziness. It just makes a person feel weird having that big glowing orb up there. And here it was a warm summer night the week after the schools got out. Looney tunes.

I saw at least five bicyclists without light or helmet, heard a call on the fire radio about an accident, and then saw the emergency people rushing to the scene after one of the bicyclists was run over down by the Frog House.

I saw a guy just standing on the top of a bus shelter, looking reflective.

Punk Rock Tom told us the story of how he had a blowout in the work truck and slammed into the safety rail on an overpass. He was bleeding from the chin and trying to cut the rim off to get loose of the rail when the Metro guys came and forced a tow off, then dumped him in a parking lot in Carson which was full of CHUDs. He duct taped his chin wound shut and finished the repair so the CHUDs wouldn’t steal his tools. Punchline is that he didn’t consider the stitches in his chin to be an injury and wouldn’t have told the story at all unless we’d insisted. An injury for Tom is a broken leg from skateboarding. Tom has a ’52 Ford Victoria which he has sculpted into a genuinely beautiful work of art. He had to cut the steering wheel to a half moon shape because otherwise he was always bobbing his head to see out the slit-like front window.

The “Fritz’s That’s Too” strip club had a marquee sign that communicated: IT’S “DUCK” SEASON! Yes, the name of the place is “Fritz’s That’s Too.”

I think tonight was also Some Kind of High School Party because the county was full of nervously glamorous teenaged girls dressed in their first grown-up summer night out dresses.

I am reading Burton’s Personal Narrative of a Pilgrimage to Al-Madinah and Meccah. It is a magical book and this is the fourth time I’ve dived into it.

Pecked to Death by Ducks

Friday night! Going to hang out with John & Elan & Nicole! Whee!

Phone in near death state. Not getting messages from anyone, getting ghost voicemail, SIM NOT RECOGNIZED, Phone not ready! OK?, YOUR MESSAGE CANNOT BE SENT. Finally get hold of John 0.03 minutes before we’re supposed to meet.

Go to wash my face and hands before exiting and there’s no hot water. 45 minutes of intense investigation including dust in face, rust in face, loud clanks of covers being removed, fear of fuel-air explosive incident, and increasing rage. Outcome: water heater not getting gas; everything else getting gas just fine. Painful and vexing procedure for pilot light is pointless.

So now! No hot water, and no hot water until Monday unless I want to pay weekend service charges for someone from the buttcrack professions. Sponge bath and bad dishwashing ahoy.

Monday: service profession angst, expensive, cheatr plumrs, possible entire week of Water Heater Adventure.

It’s not like being raped by baboons in Mombasa or anything but boy I’m annoyed.

The Castle

So my shoulder hurts, and I went to the doctor. And we tried a couple things and they didn’t work. So he sent me to the MAN! Super-neurologist. Pain specialist. That guy was indeed a skilled and professional physician. He tried a very special thing and it didn’t work.

So then the MAN said that there was a higher, more esoteric, almost hermetic knowledge held by one whose feet he was not worthy to clean, and sent me to him, with the warning “it can take a while.” Since the MAN himself was hard to see, I was full of the fear of this sage’s appointment queue, and today I nerved myself up to call.

September 22. (Forty years in the desert.) I made the appointment. I also made a “start over” appointment with my humble yet proficient physician, and let the MAN know how high the peak and how covered in mist, and the terrible length of the journey.

My brother told me to get tested for the autoimmune problem that has made his life hell. Hey, why not?

I’m still a little upset that the nature of my ailment makes mall shooting sprees difficult. I could shoot lefty but I hate brass in my teeth, and I can’t even use a machete too well without my right hand. I guess I’ll have to go amok slapping people, or kicking them like the Black Night in Holy Grail.. Suck.