broken stuff update

1) Heater problem was fixed. It was some variation of “pilot light out” but the water heater is very old and the pilot light is not accessible, apparently. I had taken off the cover and attempted it, but according to the Gas Company guys it’s weird and dangerous and I should just call them next time. Since it’s free I have no problem with that.

2) THE NEW AT&T is sending me a new phone, having agreed with my assessment that I got a lemon. It was nice to see that the rep on the phone believed me when I told her all the stupid human tricks I had already done, and only made me give her the serial number and agree not to fuck with them when they mailed me a new one.

3) Yesterday I broke 1 ceramic bowl, one plastic plate (!), and 1 glass.

We have dealt no great blow to the Devil by renaming him “neurosis.”

My high school biology teacher was an original. Passionate about his subject, honest and plain-spoken, and invariably good-natured, he was a hero to me at the time. I was terrible at biology but I loved the ideas and I loved him.

He was a park ranger in the summers, and he took us out on field trips in, well, the fields to find out what our local ecosystem had to offer.

His experience stretched beyond life science. He had been a seminary student and on a serious track to the priesthood at one point, and he was also an expert in several Native American spiritual traditions. He wouldn’t eat meat without apologizing to the animal, for example.

One day in class the subject of the occult somehow came up. I’m not sure, but I think it was related to a classmate of mine who scared the pants off herself with a ouija board. Some bit of aleatory coincidence made her think a dead relative was speaking and she flipped. Our teacher looked thoughtful at this and said “I have a story.”

“When I was in the seminary, I had a lot of trouble with the idea of the Devil. I couldn’t reconcile myself to the idea that an individual, some fallen angel, was permitted to exist and to hate us. And I couldn’t wrap my mind around the dogma of evil, especially personified evil. My supervisor told me to fast and meditate about it and I did.

“So I didnt eat much at all, and prayed and meditated for three days. This is difficult and I do not suggest you do it yourself without a good reason and a supervisor. Near the end of the third day, I got up to go into the other room and there was someone sitting in there. He introduced himself as the Devil, and said he’d heard I wanted to know about him. He didn’t look evil or have horns or anything. But it was clear somehow that he was the genuine article, you know. Not some prank.

“So I talked with the Devil for a few hours, and he explained his role to me, and why there was evil in the world. He himself didn’t know why God permitted him, but he was quite serious about evil and his hatred for everyone. Very calm conversation, but obviously very chilling.

“And then he didn’t leave. I hung around wondering what to do, and he just sat there. I realized then that the problem with inviting the Devil in is that he doesn’t have to leave unless he wants to. I gave up on getting rid of him and went for a long walk, because that’s solved so many problems for me. When I came back there was no Devil, and I had breakfast and went to sleep.

“And yes there is a moral to this story, right? Because there always is with me. Yeah, the moral is that you shouldn’t play with things you can’t understand or control. As much as it may look like a good idea, you’re risking everything. And really it doesn’t matter whether the Devil exists or I was hallucinating after all that fasting. In either case I couldn’t get him to leave and it was terrifying.

“So, yeah. If the ouija board does that to you, leave it alone.”

He had a picture on his wall of the Voyager message plaque, you know the one with the planet map and the humans and the symbols. The right-wing super-fundamentalist creationist smbiology teacher down the hall (yes, I know) got in the room one night and painted it over because it had nakeds on it. He also removed and destroyed the part of the anatomical charts that had genitalia on it. They had a little war, or rather the religioso waged war on my teacher. I think you can guess who won.

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.