grain silo

When I ten, I was looking for work. Word came through from the Rancher's Supply that a trucker was looking for some boys to empty a grain silo. Ten dollars each for a days work. A fortune. Enough to buy a new watch at Gambles. And I was keen for a new watch. I joined up.
The trucker hauled us north of town. Pulled his rig and trailer up next to the silo (and the farmer's PTO auger) and started setting up just like a carney. We passed this time like boys often do; unknowing, throwing rocks, catching grasshoppers and conducting distance-based peeing contests.
Then we were called to work.
The first and primary auger gets the majority of the wheat from the silo. It's a covered auger with a safety sleeve. It draws from the middle of the silo at it's base. There is a secondary auger inside the silo that is connected to the primary and radiates out and up and almost 360 degrees from the center-base. It's uncovered. Get caught in it and by the time they shut it down you might not have a chance. That's what we were brought for. To feed the secondary auger.
One boy (we took turns) straddles the upper end of the secondary auger and moves it across the remaining grain with a handle like a lawnmower handle. Only you can't shut it off like a lawnmower. The rest of us shovel the wheat towards that auger as fast as we can - it's greedy. The room is full of dust and chaff. A painters mask doesn't keep it out of your eyes and only barely out of your lungs.
We kept at it and we got all of it out. We were each paid on the spot.
A few days later, I bought my watch.

flame

It has been reported to HOOTENANNY that a certain elementary school teacher in one of the least interesting places on the face of the earth has a problem with our editorial content. Since he/she is afraid to speak up and comment on the content (assuming he/she has the skillset required to do so), we suggest that individual boycott HOOTENANNY and never read our posts again.
In the immortal words of The Ramones, "glad to see you go, go, go, go, goodbye!"

Don't let the door hit you in the bum on your way out. That might endanger the primary repository of your learning, if in fact you actually have any at all.

glen gould

This is our favorite pianist. His name is Glen Gould. We first came across him when we were trying to expand our musical horizons in 1983. We had a fondness for the piano because we used to have to listen to our brother while he practiced. Didn't think it was 'music' then, but do now.
Some history:
Glenn Herbert Gould (September 25, 1932 – October 4, 1982) was a Canadian pianist, noted especially for his recordings of the music of Johann Sebastian Bach. He gave up concert performances in 1964, dedicating himself to the recording studio for the rest of his career, and performances for television and radio.
Check it out. This is punk.

Gould was known for his vivid musical imagination, and listeners regarded his interpretations as ranging from brilliantly creative to, on occasion, outright eccentric. He often swayed his torso, always in a clockwise motion (this circular motion is associated with left-handedness), as he played. He did this in music of medium to very slow tempo. In 1949 Gould injured his tailbone on a paved boatlaunch near his Ontario home. This incident appears to be associated with injury to Gould's back that affected his playing posture. But it is not clear whether this occasioned the need for the chair that Gould's father subsequently modified with screws to adjust its height, and which Gould sat in to play for the rest of his life.

His piano playing had great clarity, particularly in contrapuntal passages. Gould disliked and rebelled against what he believed to be a hedonistic approach to music which had become popular in the 19th and 20th centuries. Gould was rarely virtuosic for the sake of being virtuosic, but rather, often had a refreshingly thoughtful and withdrawn interpretation of the music he played.

Perhaps because he was left-handed, Gould had a formidable technique that enabled him to choose very fast tempos while retaining the separateness and clarity of each note. He took an extremely low position at the instrument, which allowed him more control over the keyboard. Charles Rosen's view is that a low position at the piano is unsuitable for playing the technically demanding music of the 19th century. However, this did not seem to impede Gould, as he showed considerable technical skill in both his recordings of Bach, and in virtuosic and romantic works like his own arrangement of Ravel's La Valse and his playing of Liszt's transcriptions of Beethoven's 5th and 6th symphonies. Gould worked from a young age with his teacher Alberto Guerrero on a technique known as finger-tapping, a method of training the fingers to act more independently from the arm.

Gould practiced little on the piano, preferring to study music by reading it rather than playing it, a technique he had also learnt from Guerrero. He stated that he didn't understand the requirement of other pianists to continuously reinforce their relationship with the instrument by practicing many hours a day. It seems that Gould was able to practice mentally without access to an instrument, and even took this so far as to prepare for a recording of Brahms piano works without ever playing them until a few weeks before the recording sessions. This is all the more staggering considering the absolute accuracy and phenomenal dexterity exhibited in his playing.

Regarding the performance of Bach on the piano, Gould said, "the piano is not an instrument for which I have any great love as such... [But] I have played it all my life and it is the best vehicle I have to express my ideas." In the case of Bach, Gould admitted, "[I] fixed the action in some of the instruments I play on—and the piano I use for all recordings is now so fixed—so that it is a shallower and more responsive action than the standard. It tends to have a mechanism which is rather like an automobile without power steering: you are in control and not it; it doesn't drive you, you drive it. This is the secret of doing Bach on the piano at all. You must have that immediacy of response, that control over fine definitions of things."

And, here he is playing Bach's Goldberg Variations (just the first few). If you listen closely, you'll soon realize that he's playing a variation of a simple theme. It's the same song played more than thirty times, each as amazing as the other. This is just the first nine ...

Oh yeah, I forgot to mention, he hums as he plays. Don't be scared.

cool and quiet

5.26.07

Napoleon built the stock exchange, surrounded on all sides by huge Corinthian columns. I have to admit it is more impressive, possibly even oppressive, than the NYSE. Exhaustion set in, so I headed for the Metro and back to the hotel. The skies were darkening rapidly and I no sooner set foot in my room than some huge thunderstorms blew through. A couple of hours later (and about 20 degrees cooler) the rains stopped and I went out looking for dinner. I just walked into a place off the street and walked right into one of the better meals I've had in my life. Some "batons de courgette" (tempura-fried zucchini) lightly sprinkled with coarse sea salt to start with. A "gratin de blettes" (a casserole of chard topped with a bechamel amd parmigiano, popped under the broiler to brown) with a nice dry but fruity white wine from Cassis near Marseilles. Then a "brandade nimoise" (salt cod whipped with cream and garlic and eaten with toasted baguette) with more of the wine. Finally a sable (a type of barely sweetened whole grain shortbread) topped with a little pistachio-flavored pastry cream and showered with tiny little strawberries "from the woods," raspberries and blackberries. And of course coffee to round it all out. Three hours of marvellously prepared food with exactly the right wine. This morning is cloudy and cool, with a nice breeze. I have wandered around in the Faubourg Saint Germain, the River Oaks of Paris, but on a completely different scale. I walked by a beautiful chocolate shop, where little boxes of about ten chocolates are being sold, in exquisite boxes, for about $90 a box. The shops are incredible and the merchandise incredibly expensive, definitely for looking only. I will sit for a little longer in this little jewel of a park before heading back to the hotel to get ready for tonight.

i know

5.25.07 later

You're really all tired of me by now. But what else is there for me to do as I sit with my coffee at the Le Bar Balto looking down the Rue Montmartre at the cafe where the pacifist Jean Jaures was assassinated in the summer of 1914. The table is still there, with the bloodstain that never came off. The seats are all in the sun, so I elected shade at the Balto over history. Oh, it was hard to get out of bed this morning, and my feet are sore, but after covering most of the first arrondisement of Paris yesterday, I'd like to finish the first and get through the second arrondissement today . . . Ambitious task. First, the Tuileries garden, peaceful and cool in the early morning sun. Then the Place Vendome, one of the most perfect examples of classical architecture. Okay, so it was the "Palace" of Justice I was talking about on the Ile de la Cite; the "ministry" of justice seems to be on the Place Vendome. Then a walk down Rue St-Honore, thinking of all those poor people travelling in a cart down this street to the guillotine during the Revolution. A stop at a bakery for a sandwich of country ham with sharp mustard and salad, a grocery store for a liter and a half of water (this time it will be enough) and then to Les Halles gardens to enjoy a quiet lunch. Well, it was supposed to be quiet: two ladies with a tiny baby sat down on the other side of the bench (the benches are mostly two-sided). Apparently, baby was not happy with lunch, because shortly thereafter he let out a loud wail and would not stop for 10 minutes. But as I said before the French ar polite. As soon as the wails subsided to a level where the spoken word could be heard, "maman" turned to me and said "I do hope the baby has not disturbed you.". What could I say? "Not at all!" and on my way I went. The medieval tower of John Without Fear, the duke of Burgundy, who had his rival and cousin Louis Duke of Orleans brother of Charles the Mad (well, not all of the time) assassinated, and who had to build the tower to protect himself from the same fate, was an enlightening visit, with its restored and almost modern in its comforts toilet. A brief stop at the Stohrer bakery of classic tradition for a "cake aux fruits," one of my favorite pastries. It may make it home with me on Sunday. A stroll through the lanes where in medieval times thieves, cutthroats and prostitutes made their homes - the prostitutes are still there but I rated only one invitation; I'm not missing anything and my throat is still in one piece so I missed the thieves and cutthroats. Now on to the stock exchange for the other sort of thieves, cutthroats and prostitutes.

a long walk

5.25.07

Is just what I needed after lunch, but with the sun shining so brightly, the jacket had to come off. Now I have one more thing to carry. I proceeded down the south side ofthe Ile de la Cite alongside Notre Dame cathedral (definitely one of the more splendid cathedrals in the world) and across the bridge to the Ile Saint-Louis, aiming for the Rue des Deux Ponts and a bakery on my list. Alas, it is not open on Thursdays, so back to the Ile de la Cite and up its north side to the Pont Neuf. A quick look at the astrological tower of Catharine de Medici's astrologer and down the Rue de Rivoli with its grand old English hotels across from the Tuileries gardens and I was plumb tuckered out. After all it was 8 pm already and I had been out and about for a solid ten hours. Three Metro stops and I was back at the hotel. But I remembered passing by a little restaurant near the hotel, about which I'd read positive things, so why not get a bit of dinner? After all, it was only 9 o'clock; the night was still young. Still, dinner in Paris is not a speedy affair. First, an artisanal pastis with some very tiny little olives to munch on, then an amuse-bouche of a sorrel gazpacho. Then a marvellous terrine of foie gras mi-cuit ("half cooked") with some crusts of whole grain bread. A glass of Cote du Rhone Villages to accompany the main course of rack of lamb roasted medium rare and glazed with a sauce of honey scented with lavendar. A little asparagus, zucchini, puree of sweet potato, grilled tomato, sauteed sour apple and a square of grilled polenta to round the lamb out. A little green salad with a croustade covered with a grilled goat cheese. Dessert? Of course: a circle of puff pastry baked with a topping of hinly sliced apple and served warm with a scoop of ice cream flavored with that same lavendar-scented honey. Espresso to top it all off and a pleasant conversation in my fractured French with the waiter, who had willingly shared opinions on food, friendship, languages, politics etc. A short cool stroll back to the hotel had me down by 1 am. Can I manage another two days?

parlez vous francais?

5.24.07
HOOTENANNY has finally scored a true foreign correspondent. My brother Garth Teever. He's in Paris for a short vacation and seems to be enjoying himself.

Arrived after a somewhat horrendous evening on the airplane with a baby who had a rather loud scream. But I've made it to the bus headed for central Paris where I can catch the Metro to my hotel and after a shower I'll feel like going out again. My French does not seem to have deserted me, so no problems so far. Ricardo, you might find it amusing that Ann RR was on my flight, seated about ten rows in front of me. She's on her way to some conference here.

Okay, so I walked around a bit after I got off the bus on Rue Scribe. The directions were to go left after I got off the bus and then keep walking until I got to the top of the Place de l'Opera. Can someone define "top of the Place" for me, because I couldn't seem to find it. I did walk past a Bureau de Change so I took the opportunity to buy some Euros (they are not cheap, but who's counting?) while I was on the prowl. And then there it was, a huge gaping entrance to the nether regions with only a little sign saying, in French of course, "Keep your Metro clean.". Well, I figured that must be it, and so it was. I suppose one should expect the French to be subtle. A hop, skip and a jump and here I am at the hotel. A nice little room (with the emphasis on "little" but then I am paying less than a $100 a night, which would get me even less in New York), say about 6x10 with a bit extra for a bathroom. Still, they've managed to get a bed, a desk, two chairs, a wardrobe and a luggage table in while leaving me room to take a step or two. Well, out to see a bit of the city. And perhaps a pastry shop or two.

I'm not so good at following maps that don't include all the details, but I've managed to see the only Renaissance Fountain in Paris, the church where the funeral of Mozart's mother was held and Louis XIII had his first communion (then I managed my first bakery stop for a ham and cheese croissant, which I chased with about a half pound of the most crimson sweet-tart strawberries I've ever had [and the tiniest: no larger than the tip of a little finger] from a little fruit stand on the Rue Montmartre. Next, a stop at 54 Rue St Honore to see the balcony from which the painter David watched the cart taking Marie Antoinette to the guillotine. Then to the spot where once stood the house in which Moliere was born; then on to the street where Henri IV was assassinated. Then a second bakery, this time for a superb ficelle lardons and a pistachio eclair. Of course, I still haven't made it to any of the bakeries on my list - I still have three days. Now I'm just sitting in the park at Forum des Halles watching all the children and pigeons play - not necessarily together.

An hour or two of study in my book "Tune Up Your French" to finish off the evening (always useful to review the finer points of idiom and behavior) and I was too exhausted for dinner. But it's a beautiful morning: sunny and cool. I wandered over to one of the bakeries on my list on the Rue Jean Nicot for a croissant and a brioche flavored with the peel of bitter orange. I walked over to the park by the Maubourg Tower and reviewed yesterday's emails while I munched the croissant, shatteringly crisp bite by bite. I'll get to the brioche later. Then down into the Metro for a ride back over to Chatelet, where I was yesterday, only today I'll go in the opposite direction, to the Ile de la Cite. But first, I'm having my first coffee of the day in a little cafe looking out on the Seine, the Theatre du Chatelet and the fountain La Victoire, built to commemorate Napoleon's Egyptian campaigns in 1808. Before this area became the pretty little square it is today, it was the site of a notorious prison, Le Grand Chatelet, for about a thousand years. I wonder if there are any ghosts wandering around here at night.

I cannot read French handwriting. At least, not when it's written in light green lipstick on a mirror some 10 feet away and 5 feet up. I stopped at the Restaurant Paul on the Ile de la Cite this afternoon around 2 for a late lunch as it had been recommended by an acquaintance. That alone might not have sufficed, but it was absolutely overrun by lawyers and judges from the nearby Ministry of Justice (housed in the former palace first of the Roman governor of Paris [in fact Julian was proclaimed emperor of Rome there in 360] and subsequently of kings of France up to about the middle of the reign of Jean II, who was being held prisoner in England and whose son, the dauphin and future Charles V, decided to move to the Louvre when the provost of merchants, thinking he might be able to overthrow the monarchy while Jean II was unavoidably detained, burst into the palace where the dauphin was sitting with two counsellors and slaughtered them in front of the dauphin, getting plenty of blood all over the dauphin in the process, thus causing the dauphin to no longer appreciate the benefits of living on the Ile de la Cite), so I thought, why not give it a try? How's that for a long sentence? But everywhere I go around here is just layered with anecdotes from history; in this same complex is the incredible Sainte Chapelle built by Saint Louis to house the Crown of Thorns, which he bought from Baudouin II emperor of Constantinople, who was in desparate need of money and would clearly have been good at selling swampland in Florida, had he known it existed. Also in this complex is the "court" where the Revolutionary Tribunal met to send so many aristocrats to the guillotine, including Marie Antoinette, whose cell in the nearby prison was turned into an "expatiatory" chapel by Louis XVIII in the nineteenth century, and probably no fewer revolutionaries, at least until the primary prosecutor himself was sent to the guillotine. But back to the story with which I began. I'm ordering away in my not so good French and I order the "cuisse de porc" (leg of pork)braised Normandy style. Without hesitation the waitress repeats my order: "cuisse de poule.". Okay, that's a chicken leg, but what the heck. Aside from the embarassment of ordering pork and being corrected with chicken in a rather subtle manner, the chicken in France really tastes like the chicken I remember when we grew our own on the farm, and I had some more of those little tiny strawberries and some red currants for dessert. Notwithstanding the general impression of the French in America, to me they are some of the most polite people. Every single time somebody bumps into me on the crowded streets or the Metro, he (or she) says "excuse me, sir." Imagine that happening in New York!

not bad oranges

We were sitting around the hoosegow at 2609 Columbus in Minneapolis in 1991 while my friend and temporary roommate Clem who slept in the foyer (doorway) was eating oranges he'd purchased at the Farmer's Market or some grocery store when he remarked, out of the blue, "These are not bad oranges."
Being the idea man that I am, I said, "That would be a great band name."
Fellow rent payer, Pat "Goober" Gannon agreed.

We immediately formed the band now known as Not Bad Oranges. Unfortunately, controversy ensued. Clem suggested a "world beat" genre for the new band. Pat was into Alt Country and Speed Metal Country and Junior Brown. I was currently involved with a remix of Ace Frehley's first solo album, focusing on a house version of Rocket Ride. The twain would not meet and the band dissolved mere minutes after it's formation.

Several years and several emails and phone calls later, the band agreed to reunite. On a humid July evening in 2004, Clem, Pat and I all got together at Pat's new house in Minneapolis to discuss the reunion. The evening started well. Pat grilled ribs and chicken and made one hell of a polenta based salad with fresh tomatoes and rosemary from his garden. Talk turned to the band. Clem backed off his "world beat" premise and I had long since been burned by the Ace Frehley project, yet Pat wouldn't budge.

Alt Country had achieved it's heyday and Pat felt exonerated. We were going nowhere. Rebuilding the trust necessary to reunite Not Bad Oranges was going to be difficult if not impossible.

Three years later and the band has moved farther apart. Clem is in Minneapolis, Pat has moved to some godforsaken suburb thereof and I'm in Phoenix. Clem was here in November but we never got together. Maybe too much water under the bridge. Maybe just the fear in reuniting the greatest band that lasted only 15 minutes or so before it was torn apart by the strong personalities and the musical preferences of its founders.

I can't even venture to say what will become of Not Bad Oranges. We never jammed, we never performed and we never released a CD. I'm working hard to rebuild the consensus that lead to the band's formation, but time and distance weigh against us. It just might be impossible. So I ask only one question. What would you be willing to do to help us fulfill the dream?

sunday

It's 99 degrees Fahrenheit in Gilbert, AZ at 6:10 PM Mountain Standard Time. The grass is turning to yellow dust in the backyard and locusts have suddenly appeared. Birds chase them, but they seem to get away. Speedy like. They're not like South Dakota grasshoppers. You can't catch these guys. I've been trying. I have a Mason jar set aside. Holes through the lid. South Dakota grasshoppers always seemed to launch forward - up and out. These local fellows bugger off to the left and right, wings aflutter, no algorithmic flight pattern. Mean and uncatchable.

I sat down to ponder the variables and a few minutes before I came back inside I was sitting in a hard plastic lawn chair in the backyard smoking a Camel Light. I leaned over and the chair gave up several inches. Weakened by the heat, I suppose. I don't know. But, as I lurched to the right, I thought to myself, like a true Arizonian, "I should probably irrigate tonight." I don't even pee inside anymore unless necessary or I have guests. I figure the bushes need all the water they can get so I service them when I can.

As I came through the patio door into the cooled living room with big screen plasma, a locust flew in before me, flew up to the ceiling fan and dive bombed me, alighting on my shoulder. Like the dove and Castro in Havana in '59. Then, brother locust flew straight back out through the door before I could close it.
I looked at my shoulder where my friend had landed and there was a small stain. Brown. Like tobacco.

I hope it doesn't wash out.

three cowboys

Three cowboys are sitting around a campfire, out on the prairie, each with the bravado for which cowboys are famous. A night of tall tales begins.

The first says, "I must be the meanest, toughest cowboy there is. Why, just the other day, a bull got loose in the corral and gored six men before I wrestled it to the ground, by the horns, with my bare hands."

The second can't stand to be bested. "Why that's nothing. I was walking down the trail yesterday and a fifteen foot rattler slid out from under a rock and made a move for me. I grabbed that snake with my bare hands, bit its head off, and sucked the poison down in one gulp. And I'm still here today."

The third cowboy remained silent, slowly stirring the coals with his penis.

squirrel tagging

major label debut

This is Montreal's Feist playing Broken Social Scene's "Major Label Debut".

skinner

Mavis Badcob and Terry "Killer" Culhane were firmly ensconced in Lusk Wyoming following the tragic death of her brother Marvis and that chick from Arkansas when their presence came to the attention of the Mayor, Stephen W. Skinner. Skinner is a direct descendant of Seth Bullock of Montana and later Deadwood (popularized by the HBO series "Deadwood").
If you've been to Lusk, you know how the highway feeds into mainstreet and the bars and casinos shine the only lights. Mavis and Terry lived just left of the main drag after you cross the railroad tracks - just past Bill's Cafe. There's no note in the local nwespaper that they ever came to anyone's attention, but on 4/23/07, Mayor Skinner received an alert from the NCIC (National Crime Information Center), that rogues were inhabiting his vicinity. He alerted the Cheyenne ERU (Extreme Response Unit). Mostly a bunch of elk hunting wannabees and gopher shooters.

Grouped up like white turkeys, the Cheyenne ERU set a perimeter around Mavis and Terry. Maybe too late. Mavis was serving pizza at Pentaglio's in Fort Collins and Terry had gone north to dig coal. The raid was unsuccessful. They destroyed some bedding and cut power to the shack.

Mavis got the news and fled to Pueblo, Colorado. Terry's still scooping carbon and was last seen in Riverton. HOOTENANNY is dispatching a corespondent from Omaha Nebraska. We'll be on the ground in Green River by 5/27. If you hear anything, please let us know.

howe gelb

I met Howe at First Avenue in Minneapolis. He shakes hands aggressively. He then asked me where the Thai restaurant "The King and Thai" had moved to since it was a favorite of his and second he asked me where was the the closest liquor store. I told him the Thai place had moved from Nicollet to the corner of LaSalle and Grand and that the liquor store was one block east on 7th Street.
He signed my CD, writng "It's good to pay attention to your reading, Dean. Howe".
I asked him why he didn't play "Blue Marble Girl" and he said "because I don't remember it."
There are two great bands out of AZ. I was a fan of both long before I moved here.
When you're done with Howe and Giant Sand, Google the Meat Puppets or go straight to Curt Kirkwood or Derrick Bostrom who lives in Mesa This scene is ancient but still the best that ever was.
Here's a Howe solo tune. If you need some Giant Sand, write me.

video: elliot smith

I first started listening to this guy in November 2005. I'd heard of him but never paid attention. My nephew Alec knew someone who knew him when he lived in Dallas, before he moved to Seattle. Alec turned me onto his music.
Elliot committed suicide.

reason

We've determined the crash was related to our friend's imminent travel to Islamabad for some some serious James Bond level satellite stuff. The Pakis ran a bot on our website and crashed it with a ping level denial of service.
We recovered the basic site elements but nonetheless remain vulnerable to server port attacks.
We know you don't know what this means or the threat to your home systems. If you're using a Mac or an Intel machine running one of several versions of Linux you're absolutely safe. If you're on a Microsoft OS and especially MS Vista, Big Brother has been reading your email for years and you're dead.
If you want to check for sure, check your system command and review your IP configuration by typing "ipconfig" and hitting enter. If the IP address returned looks OK, you're good to go. If not, send me an email. I can redirect your machine through an anonymous redirect.
In the meantime avoid any Myspace.com sites. Not only do they stink, they are infecting your MS operating systems with spyware and adware. This means they are using you're computer when you are and even when you're not.

crash

HOOTENANNY suffered a catastrophic failure. The website crashed. We are in a holding pattern. Stay tuned while we rebuild.

too hot: update

The air handler control panel is on order. Installation has been rescheduled for Tuesday. Landlord suggests this is fantastic - that this is great service compared to the previous home warranty provider who would have, Landlord states, not even have addressed the issue by now. Tenant suggests that this contractual relationship isn't his problem because Landlord's relationship with a third party warrantor is irrelevant. Tenant's problem is the breach of the implied warranty of habitability which is also a breach of the lease. The law of all 50 states establishes as implied warranty of habitability running concurrent with any residential lease and contemplates habitability as a reasonable expectation of comfort in one's living environment. Tenant considers with-holding rent and/or requesting an abatement.
If you didn't know already, Teever is a lawyer.

this town is too hot

What follows is a typical summertime Phoenix area Landlord/Tenant exchange. The names have been changed or altered to sort of protect the innocent.

On Tuesday, the first day of the high pressure heat wave nudging the desert southwest into an earlier than anticipated summer, the temperature reached 99 degrees Fahrenheit and the AC shut down. Not the condenser/compressor, just the air handler (fan). The Tenant presumed a breaker tripped and reset the breaker. The fan restarted. All was well. A precautionary voicemail was left for the Landlord describing the incident.

On Wednesday, it happened again:
Tenant wrote to Landlord:
Hey Guys,
Air handler is down again tonight - left a VM on B's phone. Flipping the breaker hasn't reset it like last night. Cooling unit is chugging away but I shut it down because it's making cold air that's going nowhere so I don't whether it's part of the problem or not. It's nice and cool in here tonight (about 80) but it will be hot tomorrow! Please let me know what the plan is.
Thanks,

Wednesday morning, Landlord called and arranged for warranty service.
Landlord wrote to Tenant:
I just realized that I have a meeting to attend at 5:00 p.m, which will go until 6:00 p.m. It’s at the Gilbert Mercy Medical Center and a meeting that has been changed so many times…I need to attend it…I can cover the AC from 3:00 p.m. until then (my guess is that he will have to access the fans through the attic in the garage….) Might you be able to cover from 5:00 pm. On? Let me know….

So the Tenant left work early to meet the warranty service tech who quickly became known as Monkey Boy. Monkey Boy got things in temporary order.

Tenant wrote to Landlord:
All is running well. The tech indicated he needed to recharge the condenser/compressor with Freon and that the lack of sufficient Freon caused the air handler to “freeze up” and shut down. I talked to my boss who has an HVAC background and he confirmed this could cause this so I’m comfortable with the initial diagnosis. All other systems checked out although the tech did mention the filters being used were substandard and recommended pleated filters. Throw that at B and see what he says.
I’ll bring the paperwork next time I come over or throw it in with the rent.
Thanks for all your help on this!

Landlord replied:
Awesome! I’m glad it all worked out..I was thinking about the Freon as well after I got home….interesting point about the filters…you get so many opinions on those…this guy seemed pretty cool, though….when was the last time those filters were even changed? They should be changed monthly..might have to get a whole bunch and just change them out each month….
Okie dokie…see you soon!

The system crashed minutes later and Tenant wrote to Landlord:
I’m afraid to say I spoke too soon. Same issue reoccurred tonight. Cooling and fan ran - then shut down around 7 PM. Cooling continued to run. Fan never came back on. Temp rose. Turned cooling off at 9 PM, switched fan to “on” from “auto” and 20 minutes later fan turned on. Waited another twenty minutes and turned cooling on. Fan shut down immediately. ???
This shouldn’t require a degree in rocket science or nuclear level timing. If the room is at 75 and I want it to be 70, I should be able to adjust the stat and get the desired temp. No? When the cooling works but the fan doesn’t, I can’t.
Dude from warranty had a plausible reason but I think that’s shot down now. What I didn’t mention was that he suggested I didn’t understand a t-stat. What’s to understand? I say 70, I get 70. I shouldn’t have to time the sequence between air handler and compressor/condenser based on some obscure scientific process that requires knowledge of the system and electrical interactions.
Something is screwed up and warranty guy is apparently out of his league. Guess that’s why his service is so cheap. I’d rather pay $300 dollars and get a resolution than pay whatever the warranty deductible was and be told its Freon, nothing else is wrong and maybe I don’t understand a simple thermostat.
Don’t get me wrong, this is not your fault. You went out of your way to do whatever you could with the resources available and I really appreciate it. Unfortunately, the problem has not been resolved. Please ask the B to call me as soon as he’s off the reservation.
Thanks!

The warranty service was called and returned on Thursday. Monkey Boy brought his handler and the handler determined it was the air handler control panel at fault and that it was in need of replacement. The part would be picked up Friday morning and installed that day. If it was available. It wasn't. It wouldn't be until Monday. The indoor temp rose to 85. Arrangements would have to be made.

Landlord wrote:
It’s been a pretty crazy day here, so I apologize for not being able to ride herd on this AC thing….I talked with them after I spoke with you today and asked about them getting the part earlier….they have tried all their avenues here in town, they say and said they are trying the best they can. If you get really uncomfortable, and want to stay elsewhere, we’d reimburse or if you want, we could rent portable AC units for you as well….I know that isn’t the point, but let us know….
I asked if you could call them direct in the future, should something like this happen again – with anything (i.e plumbing, etc.) and they were okay with that…as long as the address on the contract is where they are servicing…so if you would like to call them, now or in the future, their number is (800)555-2339….give her hell!

In the meantime, Tenant bypassed the air handler control panel and jump started the fan via the breaker box. The fan roared to life, the temp dropped to 75 within a few minutes.

Nonetheless, Tenant wrote:
Thanks A! I’ve checked into the Airport Hilton on University because it’s close to work and I can just go into the office during the day and not have ask for travel expenses as well for the trip back and forth to work. It’s pretty reasonable at $289.00 per night and I’m thinking a $100/day per diem ought to do it so you should be out only $1200 or so for the weekend (maybe a little more when the bar tab is figured in). Of course it will be more if they don’t install the part Monday so I reserved through next Wednesday. The Marriot Fairfield on the corner was only $149 but you know, when your on the Landlord dime, that’s like the ghetto. No room service, no mini-bar!
I called the warranty company and told them of your generous offer and not to worry about getting the part ASAP. They were OK with that! They remarked how reasonable I was being about the whole affair and thanked me, “Thank you so much, Mr. Teever, thank you.”, they said. Apparently, you had them spooked.
Thanks again! I’m sure I will enjoy my weekend.


PS: Almost forgot, it’s another $24.95 for a high speed connection, but I’ll take care of that as a gesture of good will.

PPS: Ask B if he hasn’t already given you the 411. I left a voicemail on his cell.

In the meantime, the jumpstart worked and it's freezing in here now. Wonder how this will affect the electric bill? To be continued.

buckskin stallion

jimmy dale gilmore
if i had buckskin stallion

message to rudi

the specials
1979
warning: this is from a long time ago when blacks and whites got together to further the efforts of jamaican artists and a musical genre called ska
if you were listening to this when it happened or even shortly thereafter
you were probably very cool
this is for stephanie in LA
PS: that's tord bott on the organ

omaha

1982
Showed up for college at the Teke House at 505 E. Main in Vermillion, SD on a Thursday in August 1982. Unloaded my shirts, shoes and Levi 501s and perambulated down to the Dakota Dome to register for classes. Set with my curriculum, launch pad and all that - I met up with Huhner and Varg and Belly Man, Spencer Cain. They had tickets for the Police, Oingo Boingo and the English Beat at Rosenblatt in Omaha, NE. They also had blotter, black beauties and beer. And maybe a shitload of weed but I forget.
We "flew" down I-29 and asked some freeway chicks in a ragtop for directions to the gig. They drove us iin.
Oingo Boingo played first. Either they sucked or the drug cocktail had not kicked in. The Beat came on next. Everything just blowed up! Best show I had seen since AC/DC opened for Aerosmith at the Rushmore Plaza Civic Center in July, 1979.
This video only suggests their rockin' roots.
Peace.