Category: The Voices in My Head

. . .then it may not be worth having.

I tend to hack most stuff I buy, mostly in very simple ways allowing [whatever] to suit my uses better than OEM standards. (BTW, that’s one reason I dislike Apple products. Less amenable to modification to suit individual users.)

That 46″ LED TV with the WiFi antenna waving in the air off to one side? I have a use for that.

That microwave oven “Ramen bowl” designed to cook a standard rectangular ramen noodle serving? Hole drilled in a corner in order to hang it from my pot rack (which, itself, is hacked–not hanging in the way it was designed to hang but MUCH more securely). Oh, and that package of ramen noodles? Minor hack: bits of meat and veggies added make it a more complete snack. Added spices make i more delish.

New mower? Hacked the handle to make it more comfy for me to use.

Maybe you’ve seen Jerkstoppers™ for notebook computers and other devices. Unnecessary. Hacked my own. Easy-peasy.

Vacuum sweeper? Hacked the wand to allow attaching more, different attachments (from a previous vacuum sweeper).

The trapezoidal box a new bathroom sink came in? It’s now a bathroom clothes hamper (spray paint and 10″-wide band of thick, adhesive-backed aluminum foil added for appearance and strength).

Now, I don’t usually hack extremely simple, well-functioning tools like knives, but I have made knives by hacking old tools, pieces of iron or steel I had laying around, whatever. And sheaths for such things? Why not convert old leather goods to new uses? OK, BTDT.

I even hack books and music to make both better for my uses. Books: my own hardcopies are strewn with notes and corrections that editors should have caught (flyleaf is good for indexing the notes).

Music: I can always write a new arrangement of a piece I find unsatisfying in its original form, or, write new music for old lyrics, as I did when I found CRANHAM unsuitable to the last verse of Rossetti’s “In the Bleak Midwinter” (poor metric* and content match, IMO, as good as the tune is for the other verses). Unfortunately, the tune I wrote that mates well with the last verse is unsuitable for the rest of the verses. But since the last verse is the whole point of the piece, I can live with that for my own uses.

I disliked our plain, double-paned front picture window, just sitting there as a *blah* focal point of a bay window, so. . . hacked it with some pinstriping tape and translucent glass paint, so that now it appears to be a multi-lighted, multi-colored stained glass window.

The sides of our nice new (well, even after a year it still feels new 🙂 ) aren’t the brushed stainless steel of the front, but a “pebbled” enamel gray. One side shows, so. . . while it’s attractive enough, two neodymium magnets in one corner make a great catch for keys; a nice, brushed aluminum-framed cork board is helpful for current info that should be available to anyone in the house. (the neodymium magnets are the killer hack for that fridge side, though–used ALL the time, and better than the hooks we’d used in a different location before)

(“Kitchen hacks” probably outnumber most of the other hacks put together, music hacks excepted.)

I suppose I just look at things and wonder, “How could this be better?” There is usually at least one way any product can be improved, usually several.

In the sixty-*mumble* years of my short, short life, I’ve lived in quite a few places west of the Mississippi (one, just barelywest, but I have only vague recollections of my family’s sojourn in St. Louis) and traveled/visited to/in all the other lower 48 as well as other places outside our borders. Some have felt “home-ish” for a while, but when we moved to America’s Third World County™ a couple of decades ago, it felt like coming home.

First, the town and area we moved to had been buried in my unconscious since childhood by association with our “Uncle Hubert” (“adopted” uncle, lifelong friend of my maternal grandfather) who was from here, and whose grave is actually only about an eighth of a mile from our house. Automatic positive associations, since Uncle Hubert was a classy, classy guy who poured out strength, humility, honor and kindness.

Then, good Lord it’s beautiful here! Oh, it’s not the grandeur of the Rockies or the stunningly unique offerings of Yellowstone or suchlike. No, it’s a quieter, older beauty. A “rocks and rills and forested hills” kind of beauty. Get out and get “lost” on the back roads of the county: a fav activity of mine. (No, I don’t actually get lost. I know where the cardinal directions are and have a compass or three for seriously “dark and stormy nights” and whatever. I said “compass” not “GPS.” GPS is for subliterate wusses.) Still, the geographic and botanical variations are many and pretty darned amazing.

And the people. Sure, there are about as many dumbasses, jackasses and self-made morons as one might expect to find in any population, by normal distribution. But those are limited in effect and practice by an ethos of hard work, respect for common sense and a firm adherence by most of the folks to an attitude best characterized by, “your business ends where my nose begins. . . and vice versa.” “edumacation” levels are not what one might find in more urban areas, and, frankly, that is a good thing overall. (Most “highly educated” persons are self-made idiots, and I say that as a highly-educated idiot. :-)) Can-do? Yeh, third world county folks can.

And did someone say, “diversity”? We have the best and worst of that here, too, and it’s. . . working out for the most art (with some fear and trembling at times, but still working out). Somalis, Pacific Islanders (a couple of different groups, from different island groups, no less!), Moldavans, Germans, Vietnamese, Hmong, and quite a few more (including *sigh* more than a few alien invaders from South of the border). All of them seem, except for the Somalis, to be working hard at assimilating and becoming Americans (the illegals harder than some, though illegitimately). Culture clashes are almost. . . well, never.

And then there are the other demographics: townies and hill/country/”piney woods” folks. Those groups do overlap, but my fav folk are the folks I meet on back county roads, rednecks, hillbillies, even a few almost hermit squatters. Are some of ’em paranoid separatist “militia” folks? Yep. And almost all of them are good people, too, if a wee tad extreme in some views even for my taste.

Feels like home. Very classically conservative politically and socially, for the most part. That means, of course, that, applying the nose-business rule, that folks are allowed to be different and not generally forced into conformity, as in more and more subsets of society. Conformation to the norm of “if it ain’t your business, butt out” lifestyle is a type of conformity I can live with gladly.

Another Good Thing: Friction? Strong disagreements? Argument? Yeh, but when you can COUNT on most folks being armed, those things are usually dealt with better than in other places. Crime? Well, some, but home invasions, muggings, car jackings and suchlike? See above re: armed citizenry. Do more folks lock their doors in America’s Third World County than when we first moved here? Yeh, but the powers that be decided to put an Interstate highway through our county, and there went that tradition. No,seriously. Oh, there are other “benefits” of civilization that our rulers have foisted off on us that have contributed, but I’ll let the increased traffic stand in for them all.

Is America’s Third World County™ being brought slowly into the late 20th Century (it’ll be a while before the 21st Century begins its invasion here *heh*)? Yeh, but there is still a remnant of a better life here, and it’s home.

And, on top of all that, here is where my Wonder Woman lives, and that would trump anything else, anyway. 😉

OK, so “city” workers here in third world county central deserve kudos for fast response. “City” planners, notsomuch.

So, spent last night vacc-ing and pumping and santitizing. The vacc-ing and pumping was at least 300 gallons of. . . sewage backup. Yeh, the sanitizing was a . . . gas. (Chlorine bleach–what I had on hand–combining with organic compounds: fun.) *sigh*

Things had slowed down a bit to the rate of about 15 gallons every half hour to 45 minutes by 8:00 this morning (cleanout to recepticle with pump). Called the “city” (yes, “emergency” number was worthless, as was number for water/sanitation department) after one such session. “City” clerk said he’d relay the message. Checked 30 minutes later. No effluent. Blockage down line had been cleared. Son&Heir told me he’d seen a “city” work truck a few minutes before heading toward a down line sewer access.

Quick response. Fast work. I wonder, though, just what someone dumped down their toilet. . . this time. (Yeh, this has happened two other times over the past 18.5 years here.)

Bad rap to “city” planners, though. The eight-inch sewer line is far, far smaller than it needs to be to serve all the households that have been added since it was initially installed. They KNOW it’s undersized, but a sports park etc. has priority over infrastructure improvements (and this isn’t the only one going begging).

But the repair crews are not too shabby (when the work order actually gets put on their list).

Today, Son&Heir got a mailout from AARP trying to con him into becoming a “member” of their gang.

Go ahead, AARP, MAKE me feel old, already. . . *grumble-grumble-gripe-complain*