And the clock keeps ticking...

I came across this web page today and this early paragraph really grabbed me, reminiscent of Institute discussions from long ago.  This is all I've read so far; I'll get to the remainder later today.  I suspect it will be quite savory.  Or not.

Philosophy is a practice of wonder and logic; curiosity and introspection; dialectic and meditation; criticism and advocacy.  We all do some of these things, some of the time. We all philosophize, but we do so in different ways.

https://bigthink.com/mini-philosophy/which-of-the-5-philosophical-archetypes-best-describes-you/

 

 

Of Beagles and Masks

I'm pretty sure that I told the story about how Talks With Beagles got his name at least once before, but we never get tired of those old classics.  

I named him Splash after a friend of mine who was a commercial fisherman down in Florida.  His colleagues named him that because he used to fall off the boat a lot.  Right from the start, I had the feeling old Splash was going to be that kind of dog.  

Beagles were never bred for cognitive intelligence you know.  They were bred for rabbit hunting skills and for the friendly manner with which they interact with humans and most other dogs.  In order to interact with humans at all they need to understand a few simple commands like "come" and "stay".  Splash's human language skills got lost somewhere in the gene pool, so I had to learn to speak to him in his native tongue, which I did.  Truth is, I already had decades of experience listening to the beagle language, I just needed to learn to speak it fluently in order to communicate with Splash. Although beagles have a limited vocabulary, they can be downright eloquent with their use of inflection and emotional delivery.  Like the old saying goes, "It's not what you say, it's how you say it."

When I first started on the internet, I was told that I needed to come up with nom de net.  I had recently read a book about Native Americans, and I was impressed with how their names were chosen.  Although old Splash has since gone off to the Happy Hunting Grounds, his legacy will now live on forever in cyberspace.

I never cared much for those covid masks.  Although they might have had some medicinal value, I thought their main purpose was to make us more docile and easier to manage like those poor people in Japan and Red China.  Be that as it may, they're mostly gone by now, and good riddance.

Origin stories

 Well you know a beagle is a dog.  Actually though I think his proper name is Talks with Beagles which I think is the name of an Indian or maybe it is Old Dog taking on an Indian name, or maybe it has something to do with The Freehold.  I will bow out on the subject and wait for Beagles to supply his own origin story.  

And a Boxer is a dog, I think even a particular dog. Not sure about that extra T in the middle, but I like it as a short name, much like Beagles is short for Talkswith Beagles, so if you are in a hurry, and  as Movers and Shakers all us Institute Fellows are in a hurry, we could ask for instance, "Hey Freet what time is it by that big ol' clock of yours."  But if you don't like the ring of that then you only have to say and it will never ring out in the slightly dusty halls of The Institute again.

I am thinking Old Dog comes from when he was working in the printshop alongside all those careless snotnoses who were good enough to do the easy shit but when a truly hard task came down the pike they would have to go to the recesses of the shop where the slightly arcane machines were along with Old Dog who was always fucking with something back there.  They would have to put up with the way he shook his head as if to say don't you snotnose dumbasses know anything fer Chrissake?   But in the end Old Dog would get the job done right, and they would flee when he began giving them the details.  I may not have this exactly correctly but I have no doubt The Scourge will set me straight shortly.

Nobody ever asks me why I am Uncle Ken, probably because once I get to telling a story, well it may take a little time.  Actually my full proper name is Kindly Uncle Ken though I think I am the only one who adds the Kindly.  I knew a guy named Walt once and I got into calling him Uncle Walt (like in Disney) because I liked the way it sounded, and then I realized Uncle Ken sounded pretty good too, so that is my story.

I guess I admire grandfather clocks, old and stately like the fellows of The Institute, and I like those 15 minute interludes, a short one for the quarter after, double that for the half hour, and three times for the quarter to I presume.  I like a chatty clock.

Not crazy about cuckoo clocks though, just too damn silly.  Time is like money, a serious business and a bird popping out is way too much razzle dazzle.

I know even less about submersible pumps and pressure switches than I know about grandfather clocks and how Old Dog got his name.  But I'm glad that Beagles got through that crisis with a minimum of trouble.  

But I was kind of hoping we would continue on with the subject of masks.  I know Beagles and I went to the mat on the issue several times and I thought it would be interesting to revisit the issue in a calmer manner than when it was all around us.  Remember that barber who ran a mask free shop for awhile and got in trouble with the local gummint, although I think other parts of the local gummint was on his side.

I would like to bat the subject around with bar talk where anybody can say anything and nobody gets pissed and if you want to derail the subject by telling a joke there is no harm and no foul.

Or not, as long as people are yakking about anything at all I am happy. 

Holy Fark!

Look who's back!  Jumpin' Jesus on a pogo stick; welcome back, buddy.  I've been wondering about your situation, the way you ghosted the blog, even the other blogs you had going.  How rude!, I'm thinking, quite unlike the genteel protocols of The Institute.  But then I'm wondering, maybe Brother Beantown fell on hard times, landed in jail, is in the hospital, or even dead.  Could be anything, really, and I was still working on an (in)appropriate post mocking and/or impugning you and your person, your job, your taste in music; the list goes on.  Even worse, maybe you had your fill of the mutterings of the hapless Midwestern rubes but were too polite to say so.  But I digress.  Good to see you back; it's like you never left.

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It's been a long time since I worked on any carbs but I don't think it's the ethanol clogging the jets, especially if it's an older unit.  All the jets I've seen have been brass, which is impervious to such solvents.  Ethanol is notorious for dissolving hoses and gaskets and the resultant gunk is what is causing the problem.  That's purely my conjecture; there should be a competent small engine mechanic in your area who can square you away.  OR, you could check out Chickanic's YouTube channel; she has excellent chainsaw-fu and may have already covered it.

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-5F?  Meh; you get used to it.  It's the wind that makes it brutal.  Funny story: Used to work with a guy, recent emigre from the Soviet Union, who wore this amazing black sable hat/cap/whatever, the kind you see all the Russkis wearing in the movies.  He'd come into work shivering, talking about how cold it was and I had to smile.  He was from Siberia.

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One final word.  You mentioned "old dogs" a few times.  There is only one Old Dog at the Institute and he be me.  The other members are Beagles and Uncle Ken; please make a note of it.  Yes, you are forgiven.  Thank you for your attention to this matter!  And I've been meaning to ask, "What's a Freet?"

This super cold weather is For The Birds!

Greetings from Boston,where it's -5 F right now.  I'm sure it's cold where you all are, as well.  TalksWithBeagles, I do hope your well water is fully working by now!  We have the town water piped in here, but I do leave our meter-closet open at this time of year so I don't have freezup on the main water line.  It's never been a problem, I'm just being prudent.  I wanted to write, "water-closet" but of course that has a different meaning to some Brits.  We got a lot of snow this time, around 20 inches and two of my neighbors' snowblowers wouldn't stay running so I loaned them mine. That ethenol in the gas sure clogs up the carb mains if not maintained!
Long time no visit the Institute here, sorry... but it's good to be reading you old dogs again.  I'm playing catch-up, I can toss a few stories in here and there to contribute.
Ken, I'll find a keepsake or two and maybe a future story.
Our latest toy here though, you older dogs may remember these, has been a grandfather-clock. They are so beautiful and also are kind of fun to keep tuned and in-time, it's a rather shame the younger pups don't want them any more, and you can find on Marketplace what sold as $3000 clocks now for just one or two c-notes, fully working or just needing minor restoration.  Ours chimes beautifully each quarter-hour and keeps perfect time.  It was cheap, door was taped shut with masking-tape with no key for the door lock, and was missing it's finial. It didn't have many scratches though so I was happy to remove the masking-tape glue with Goo Gone, found a cheap finial on eBay, and Amazon-ed a key. It's a beautiful piece of furniture and we're enjoying it.  I'm not fooled that any heir may want it, it may go to landfill on that eventual day when I pass on, but at least until then we can enjoy it. 
This week we decided to help the cold birds by putting out some bird seed, which we've never done. So we tossed some loose mixed seed onto our back porch, and soon four or five small wrens came and this was super entertaining for our two indoor cats, glued to the window and flicking their tales.  My wife soon got us a bird-feeder, and I just hung that up yesterday in a temporary way and I'll redeploy it with a pole later. It's a medium cost one, so that if squirrels get onto it their body weight closes access to the seeds.  Our idea being that we'll dangle it off the porch over the grass a little, so that we don't get quite so much poop on the porch deck.  Rocky (dog) has been tracking that into the house when he comes in from doing his Business, so we have to wipe his feet, not fun.  
Interestingly, the birds have not discovered the bird-feeder at all yet. They keep coming to the porch floor and looking for seed. I want to tell them, "it's right there above you!" but of course that would scare them off.  It has the fatty sunflower seeds loaded in, I hope it helps them during this cold snap.
I hope you're keeping warm and safe where you are!  

But Some Things Last Longer Than Others

Turned out it wasn't the pump after all.  It was the pressure switch.  In addition to calling the well driller, I called the regular plumbing and heating guy and also left him a message.  He called me back at 8:00 AM and said he would be there between 10:00 and 11:00.  He showed up promptly at 10:00 and had the problem fixed by 10:15. It's only a temporary fix though.  The switch needs to be replaced as well as the pressure tank.  He said that he might be able to do it tomorrow or next week for sure.  Meanwhile we have running water in the house again.  Yay!

Nothing Lasts Forever

There are several alternatives for water pumps on rural wells.  The most popular is the "submersible".  It's called that because the pump is located at the end of the drop pipe that extends down the well casing and actually runs under water.  Submersible pumps are warrantied for 20 years, which seems like a long time at the beginning, but doesn't seem nearly as long when viewed from the other end. 

Ours lasted over 25 years, so we should be pleased with its performance.  It just died a few hours ago, and now we have no running water in the house.  The only problem with submersibles is that nobody can repair or replace them except a well driller because the pipe needs to be pulled with the same equipment that installed it.  This takes some doing, and they're certainly not going to do it in the middle of the night.  I left a message on their voice mail after being assured by the nice lady who made the recording that they will contact me as soon as possible.  Ah, the joys of rural living! 

masks

 Saturday night I watched a pretty good movie, Eddington, which starts out with a 2020  dispute between a sheriff and a mayor about masks and spins off from there into weird conspiracy theories and a lot of mayhem, you know how things go, pretty good movie.

Masks, remember them?  This whole pandemic thing, when I think back on it it seems like a movie, like something that never happened in real life.

At first it seemed like one of those bird or swine things, something that sounded ominous but then floated into the ether.  No ether this time.  Everything was closed, the streets were empty, busses ran their routes with no passengers.  

And then the masks.  I didn't like masks, didn't like to wear them and didn't like to see others wearing them either.  

But it was only going to last a couple weeks, and it was the right thing to do.  It made me safer and it made my friends and neighbors safer too.  

But right away it was obviously going to make trouble.  Those clowns on the right were not going to like it, not at all.

Well alright we have our differences.  But we got along because we more or less looked alike.  We could root for the Cubs together, we could stand by the bus stop and curse the CTA for that late bus, and everything was fine.

But now we could tell at a glance who was woke and who was not woke.  I don't remember any fistfights on the sidewalks, but sometimes there were unpleasant stares on both sides.

I have to admit it, I became sort of a mask warrior.  I counted the masked and unmasked as I walked to the Jewel.  Downtown it was pretty good, maybe 70 to 30 percent woke, but as you got into the rest of the city it was maybe 50 50, and in the burbs less than that, and downstate Katy bar the door, and let's not even talk about what was going on in those faraway red states.

The masks were particularly uncomfortable in the gym running on the treadmill, but it was the right thing to do.  I remember one time there were a couple young guys with their masks pulled down under their noses. I called them out.  Words were exchanged.  They were both pretty big and kind of rough looking, afterwards I wondered if I was nuts for calling them out, but, you know, it was the right thing to do.

Of course the other side thought they were doing the right thing too.  They were sticking up for themselves, being free, is that not what USA is all about?  

Those bastards, they were endangering the lives of my friends and neighbors.  How hard is it to wear a mask anyway?

There are tons of statistics about masks and how effective they were.  I think the stats come out in favor of them as far as life and death are concerned, but there are so many variables, warm and cold weather, Americans vs Swedes, etc.  That it's hard to tell.

I think I took it too far.  I don't remember that Elsdon Methodist Church taught me this, but I believe we should hate the sin but love the sinner.  I wasn't doing that in those mask days.  I regret it.

Staying Alive

 My mind is as sharp as it ever was, it's only my back, my knees, my shoulders, my heart, and my lungs that have functionally declined over the years.  It suppose it could be worse, a lot of people my age are dead.  

Living in the Freehold has certainly gotten more problematic, but we are getting by with a little help from our friends, as well as our daughter and some hired hands.  I have seen worse winters, but of course this one ain't over yet.  We haven't gotten nearly as much snow locally as some nearby communities, and last night was the first time the temperature dropped below zero.  

Most of our memorabilia is packed away in storage.  We don't have a lot of energy or spare time to dig it out and reminisce over it.  After my mother died, my sister found a whole bunch of stuff that she had kept from our childhood days.  I would have pitched it, but my sister pointed out that we should save it because it meant something to our mother.  I suppose she was right, but now our daughter will have that much more stuff to dispose of after we both are gone.  

in the Dead of the Dead of Winter

 Super-agers huh?  I can still do a lot of things pretty well, but I do put things down and five seconds later have no idea where they are.  Complicating this is the fact that often the item has been sitting right in front of me on the table all the while.  I often walk into another room and have no idea why.  Sometimes I can figure it out. and sometimes I have to go back into the first room and almost always the reason becomes clear.  I am terrible with names and words.  I'll be spouting on and all of a sudden the next word is gone.  Just gone.  I could vaguely sense it as I approached it, but when it comes time to say it, it flies away like a little bird.  I know exactly what or who I want to say, but the word or name is no longer attached.  Sometimes I can pause just a little and it comes to me, but most often I have to resort to the embarrassing 'that thing that...' or 'that guy who...' 

It's worrisome.  Will it just continue the way it is, or will it get worse and worse?  Well whatcha gonna do?

I don't know what great authority said that boomers don't begin until January 1, 1946. but I say bushwa.  It goes to at least January 1, 1945.  I wore my Davy Crockett racoon cap just as proudly as the kids in the grade behind me.  I don't know shit about this silent generation, but it is something I can do a little research on, also that Dunning-Kruger Institute, but I'll do that later before I forget what I am writing about.

I was quite the little Christer in my young days.  I remember going up to Frank Shapiro, who was a grade ahead of me, shooting baskets in the Tonti Grade School and cursing when he missed one, and asking the probing question, "What if Jesus heard you say that?"  Surprisingly it had no effect on Frank.  At about twelve I thought about that religion thing, and figured it was all bushwa (My train of thought began with there being no Santa Claus).  I stood up in my bedroom and told any lingering Listener, "I am an atheist," and nothing happened.  So I guess that was my proof that it was all bushwa.

6:42, 5 below.  Watching the river for the ice to appear.  Just fine in my tower, and I know that Old Dog's apartment is ship-shape, but I worry about Beagles out there in the freehold, especially since he is getting snow that Old Dog and I are not.

Hang in there Beagles. 

Congratulations!

I'm always surprised when I learn something new and add a new word to my vocabulary; both of you gentleman are qualified to be called Super-Agers.

"Researchers from Vanderbilt University Medical Center investigated what super-agers – people who enter their 80s with the cognitive function of those many decades younger..." 

Source:
https://newatlas.com/brain/alzheimers-dementia/super-agers-genes/

Pretty cool, in my opinion.  With any luck I'll be joining your ranks in a couple of years.

 

 

Laughing all the way?

Okay, Uncle Ken; what is "bon yoyage?"  Did I ever mention that your attention to detail stinks?  Of course I did, but if you don't care I won't either.

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Seems to me that you guys from The Silent Generation are seriously contemplating your mortality, maybe even getting ready to check out.  Hope you're not circling the drain or in a distressed situation.  As a Baby Boomer in good standing and an honors graduate of the Dunning-Kruger Institute I am selfish enough and delusional enough to tell the Grim Reaper to go fuck himself; I'm making my own rules.  The human body is amazing in its capacity to fix itself in many cases.  Okay, I'll admit I can't do much about cancer but according to my most recent medical assessment I'll drop dead from either heart attack or stroke; hope it's quick.  Maybe an ICE agent will hasten the process.  Meanwhile, I'm paying attention to the things I'm supposed to do, you know the drill and have access to the same information as I do.  So it goes.

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Your little sample of keepsakes is revealing, Uncle Ken.  I don't know if my school had attendance awards and I certainly tried to get out of Sunday School every week, to no avail.  Larry Goodman's Community Theater (with Flash Gordon!) was much more important to me.  I tried dodging church, too; big fail again but I don't think I suffered any lasting harm.

I'll be digging through my accumulated treasures one of these days; maybe find something worth writing about.

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One of Gary Larson's more memorable Far Side cartoons was titled "Cow Tools."  Check this out: https://www.livescience.com/animals/land-mammals/ever-seen-a-pet-cow-pick-up-a-broom-and-scratch-herself-with-it-you-have-now

Is this an omen?

Going in Style

 Art Carney, George Burns, and Lee Strasberg, in this 1979 movie about three old codgers in their late golden years who rob a bank.  Whaddaya think guys?  I suggest we do it up in Cheboygan because I don't know how well Beagles travels and the banks are maybe more slipshod than down here on the sunny shore of Lake Michigan, and damnit, I would like to see Cheboygan.

I particularly remember a scene where Art Carney pulls out this box that holds various moments of his life, some important, some not, and some who the hell knows what they are.  I have such a box and I also have various other little containers of crap I have no use for but don't want to throw away that I think I should look through more often than every five years, but I know if I pull it out there goes the rest of the day.  Anyway I was rummaging through my archives the other day in search of something else and opened up a small cookie tin where I keep that kind of crap, and came across these items.

The first is something Old Dog made with one of high tech toys, then my Perfect Attendance medal from Gage Park High, Five year attendance at Elsdon Methodist Church, and my draft card.

A story in every one of them, something to look through on an overcast afternoon in the deadest of winter., and put away for another five years when it is time to make supper.

I'm hoping you guys have such boxes and maybe you could pull a few items out and maybe have enough material for a post to The Institute because nothing brightens up an overcast morning in the dead of the dead of winter like something over the transom.

And if I don't hear anything new well I'll expand on these four items.

bon yoyage

 My memory of the lead pipe discussion is pretty hazy, but I was able to use the search function to find it.  I think it came from a smaller discussion about the origin of the term lead pipe cinch. 

That was quite a discussion you had with Chatz.  Well he is a talkative guy, and he certainly has a lot of knowledge that would take you at least a few hours of driving the googlemobile to amass.  

The fireworks downtown were great this new years.  I took a gummy to enhance the experience and it turned out to be too much.  There I was after the fireworks with a big buzz and nothing much to do with it.

You guys know I write a bit, and I am trying to get back into it again so I asked Chatz if he would criticize one of my stories and he was all in on that.  I thought he gave a pretty accurate review, and then I asked him what he thought about me having the character do this and he wrote back more of the story incorporating the character doing this, and I wrote back what if he does that and got another little writeup.

And so it went until 3 AM.  Chatz makes a good sounding board but he is a terrible writer, his prose is clunky.  I didn't make near the progress I had hoped for but I had a great time.  I will try this again.

Living here in a tower with its own grocery store and all I can probably stay out of the old folks facility longer than Beagles, but my time has to come.  I am kind of rooting for dying in my sleep, or maybe something quick like getting hit by a car.  I guess being propped up with a soft pillow while friends and relatives drop by to wish me bon voyage would be nice, hopefully with happy pills.  

I am sure that we all think about this stuff, but it's hard to guide the conversation to it because most likely it will make the rest of the crowd uncomfortable.  

They have all these pamphlet like things on the subject but they tend to be religious or spiritual or eerily upbeat, can't we do just the facts Ma'am?

The New Normal

 This last snowstorm wouldn't have been bad if the ice storm hadn't preceded it.  It was nothing like the big one we got last spring when our power was out for almost ten days, but it still wasn't much fun.  This time we only lost our power for seven hours, although I understand that some areas south of us lost theirs for several days. The worst part for me was that the windshield wipers on the pickup got entombed in ice.   I'm not talking about just the blades, I'm talking about the mechanism that drives the arms.  I don't believe I've ever seen that happen before.  I was out there chipping away at it today after letting the truck idle for an hour.  I made a good dent in it, but I haven't reached bottom yet.

I have gotten too old and infirm to plow my own driveway, so we have engaged the services of a much younger man for this season.  I'm not sure that we will still be here next season.  Some sort of old age facility is in the cards, but we are trying to hold out as long as we can.  

I seem to remember that we discussed this topic in the past, but I don't think we ever got to the bottom of it:

   Lead Pipes Explained                      

bar talk

 So glad to see Old Dog posting.  Every morning one of the first things I do is go to The Institute to see whazup and for all of December and parts of November and January nothing was up.  I know that Old Dog fancies these long silences but it saps my willingness to post if I know that I will have to wait like a month to get a response and by that time any threads I was hoping to spark have died.

There are topics that I'm still pondering, not sure if I am able to bring light to the issues or am just prolonging pointless arguments.  We three are very different and I think it best to keep my mouth shut most of the time.

I don't mind pointless arguments.  Back in the day of Ten Cat seminars Old Dog was a big fan of Bar Talk or bullshit sessions, where you just ramble on, first thing that pops into your mind and you don't mind if others disagree or when the topic changes.  Nothing wrong with ratholes, it's about the journey and not the destination.  

But we have discussed this many times.  

I am wondering where Old Dog has been watching No Other Choice.  It's not available to stream though I know that Old Dog knows certain internet shortcuts. 

But I am a big fan of the director, Park Chan-wook.  Loved Oldboy and the other two Vengeance Trilogy movies before and after Oldboy.  Now there are movies.

Speaking of movies I saw The Wild Bunch a week or so ago and it holds up very well.  Nothing but outlaws and the good guys are not much better than the bad guys, but you root for them anyway. 

We are having a cold snap here lately, but major storms, of which we seem to have a lot lately (or is just media hype, very photogenic these storms), but they seem to hit south (snowstorms) or north (really cold snaps).  This last one went to the north and smacked Cheyboygan pretty hard and I thought of Beagles out there way north and way out in the country.  Hope that Beagles got through that ok.  I have been dipping into the Cheyboygan Daily Tribune lately and they did not seem to think the storm was such a big deal.  Hardy folk, unlike us down south who tremble at a few inches of snow.

Save Trump for last is the way we anti Trumpers do things because if you start too early that is all you talk about the whole night, best to save it for the last beer.  One thing I used to think of Trump was at least he wasn't getting us into any wars, you would think he is the kind of guy who would like to wear a military hat and a chestful of bogus medals, but now he is rattling the saber to beat the band.

Turning the page

Happy New Year, gents!  My summary of the past 12 months is simple: Yikes!

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Sure has been quiet in the Institute lately but I don't think it's a big deal.  I don't think blogs on this site ever die; I'm still waiting to read the follow up on Merino socks from one of Uncle Ken's original blogs.  Patience is a singular virtue of mine and I can wait longer, which is why I seldom post.  There are topics that I'm still pondering, not sure if I am able to bring light to the issues or am just prolonging pointless arguments.  We three are very different and I think it best to keep my mouth shut most of the time.

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I know Uncle Ken is a big fan of Louis Sullivan, but how about other architects?  There is a local guy that teaches at Circle (is it still called that?), Stewart Hicks, and he has a YouTube channel that gets into many aspects of architecture.  Good stuff, especially in the context of urban design, another favorite rabbit hole of mine.

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My rabbit holes seem to have their own rabbit holes; I keep finding interesting movies to watch online.  One of the latest is No Other Choice, "a 2025 South Korean satirical black comedy thriller film."  The main guy works in a paper mill, maybe a bigger one than Mr. Beagles is familiar with.  The film looks good so far as long as you don't mind subtitles.

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Okay, that's all I've got for now.  Keep your powder dry.